My Hero
by XxRoGuExHeArTxX
Summary: HD Slash. When Harry is brutally beaten & raped by a mystery assailant, a very unexpected hero comes to the rescue in the form of Draco Malfoy. Nothing at Hogwarts is as it seems though, and Harry & Draco soon realize all they can depend on is each other.
1. The Hero in Distress

Author's Note:

Greetings, and welcome to the story. A few quick words before you begin reading.

First and foremost, this story is _**SLASH**_. That means a male, homosexual relationship. If you don't like, don't read. It is also contains lots of colorful language, violence and some well-placed sensuality. This story is also based on the Harry Potter novels, which I unfortunately did not have the good fortune to contrive- they, and all their characters, are the property of JKR.

Second, this story is still in progress at the moment. **The main arc of the story is complete and posted here.** However, the epilogue is still in progress. I am also doing a massive re-write, some of which is already posted and some of which is not. As of **August 21**, **2009** chapters **1-22** have been rewritten, with the rest to follow. So basically, please pardon the dust. If you've read this story before, lots has changed. So far I have already added over 10,000 words of additional text, and keep an eye out for even more.

And finally, to my ongoing readers: I am SO sorry that this is not done yet. I made the mistake of completing the epilogue and half the revisions without backing them up online or externally, and my hard drive fried, of course. I am now working on this story every day, but considering how bad I've been about keeping deadlines so far I will simply say it will be done VERY SOON.

Thank you, I hope you enjoy, and please don't hesitate to tell me what you think!

~*~

The overwhelming din of the Great Hall was dying to a low murmur as students wandered off in rowdy groups and small, satiated clusters. Dinner was slowly coming to an end at Hogwarts, and only a few rapidly cooling trays of food and a handful of stray students hinted at the vibrant assault of smells and raucous laughter that had previously marked the evening. At least, those were the sort of thoughts playing in the back of Harry's mind as he surreptitiously made his way through the massive double-doors, glancing around nervously before darting in to fill a napkin with rolls and pastries, hastily shoving a hunk of bread in his mouth as he scanned the room for any other food he might easily stow in his bag. The tray in front of him suddenly disappeared, followed by two more from the Slytherin table. Harry cursed his hesitation, but reminded himself that it had, after all, been the _Slytherin_ table, and he certainly wasn't _that_ hungry. Another student stood to leave the Great Hall, revealing a final tray. There, on the Hufflepuff table- was that... a sandwich?

"Harry!"

_No..._

He froze, the half-chewed bread wedging in his throat as he tried to swallow.

_That_ _voice_...

Harry could feel the blood drain from his face and the tiny hairs along the back of his neck begin to quiver. One simple word, his own name called from a distance, and his mouth was dry, knees trembling beneath him. No, no, he had been so _careful_. Harry knew he should make a run for it while he still had the chance, but had not the slightest idea where to go, or how to get there inconspicuously now he had been spotted. He cursed colorfully under his breath for not having planned an escape route, frustrated, but mostly confused, at how things were so rapidly managing to deteriorate. Hesitation again caused Harry to miss his chance, though this time he feared the result might be worse than a growling stomach. Cornered, he merely squeezed his eyes shut tight as he felt something brush up behind him; he couldn't completely suppress the shudder, though, as hot, stale breath whispered against his throat:

"Fancy seeing you here, _Harry_. I was beginning to wonder if you _ever_ eat."

Harry _hated _the way his name sounded from the other boy's lips, a low breathy purr like it was something secret and explicit. Like even his own name was something he should be ashamed. A heavy arm slung itself around his shoulders, nearly forcing his already weak knees to give out completely. The napkin and its precious contents were quickly forgotten as the other boy's arm tightened painfully around Harry, firmly guiding him back out of the Great Hall and into the empty entryway. Harry was so absorbed by the terrible turn of events his hunt for food was leading to that he did not notice the pair of eyes tracking their progress. The other boy was not so oblivious to their audience, but dismissed it for the time being- he was having a hard enough time stifling the grin threatening to give him away.

"In fact, come to think of it, _Harry_, I haven't seen you for, oh... _two days_. If I didn't know better, I might even think you were... avoiding me?"

"_Again with my name_," Harry thought with a wince.

The light, friendly voice held an unmistakable edge, and though it lilted up as if in question there was no doubt in Harry's mind what that tone really was- trouble. The entryway was perhaps even quieter now, he realized with a start, and the lights there had already been dimmed for the evening. Long shadows played along the walls, throwing the intricately carved arches towering above them into intense highlights and deep shadows. Harry spared a brief, longing glance down each of the several paths he could escape by, seriously considering taking a chance on the nearby maze of corridors in the dungeons when Professor Snape emerged from the Great Hall. He paused a moment to glance between the two boys before leveling a cold, disdainful glare at Harry. For the first time in his life, Harry desperately hoped that the surly man scrutinizing him would intervene: Detention, perhaps? House points deducted? Sent to the Headmaster's office? Anything to allow him a moment to escape. Instead, Snape stayed true to form and did the exact opposite of what Harry wanted- in this case, he turned and walked away.

"_Lousy git," _Harry mentally cursed. "_Not my fault the Master of Occlumency couldn't keep his own bloody mental shields in place."_

Harry hadn't realized the other boy was still gripping his arm until the fingers tightened painfully, nails digging into flesh through the thin layer of his jumper- with a rush of fear Harry realized in his distracted state he had failed to respond to the other boy's implication. If possible, Harry paled even further.

"Sorry! I...sorry! No, no, I would never.. do that. You know I wouldn't, ever. I've just been so busy. I have a Potion's test on Monday, and a Charm's essay due next week, and... Quidditch. Practice, I mean, Quidditch practice. The first game is in a few weeks and after the ban and everything last year-"

"Great!" The other boy cut in, silencing Harry with an unnerving smile. The arm around Harry's shoulders was really beginning to take its toll, and when icy fingers possessively caressed up the side of his throat Harry made the mistake of jerking away. The other boy laughed, grabbing a fistful of Harry's hair in retaliation and jerking his head roughly to the side.

"I may not know much about Potions or be particularly good at Charms, but why don't you come down to the Pitch in, oh, an hour, and we'll get you back in proper shape in no time."

Harry shuddered as his tormentor, flush behind and towering over him, drew down his jumper collar, exposing what Harry knew to be a meandering expanse of mottled bruises and bite marks. Harry could feel the moist breath against his ear coming faster and rougher now, and it made his skin crawl. His grip in Harry's hair tightened, anticipating the struggle and holding the smaller boy in place as he ran his tongue along one particularly vicious bite, sucking until the barely-healed flesh reopened. Harry winced, tightly gritting his teeth, but his silence only drew a new bout of laughter from his captor.

"Mmm... two days is a long, _long_ time, Harry. Too long. In fact, why don't we move that meeting to a half hour from now- just long enough to run up and get your broom, if I'm not mistaken.

The cold, cruel fingers in his hair slowly relaxed, but Harry's relief was short lived as they trailed down his throat and chest, drawing a sudden and severe wave of nausea. The bread he had managed to eat seemed to be lodged partway down his esophagus, apparently uncertain which direction it wanted to go.

"But- tonight? It's already after outdoor curfew, I can't leave the castle..."

Harry abruptly found himself shoved against the wall, his head knocking against the stone so hard his vision went dark for a moment and he bit his tongue in surprise. He tasted blood, but managed to nod in response.

"Yes... a half hour. I'll be there."

A dark smile stretched thin, pale lips.

"Good boy, Harry. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."

If not for the wall's support Harry feared he might have collapsed when he was quite abruptly released- instead, he merely staggered for a moment before regaining his feet. By the time the dizziness abated enough that he was able to look around it was with little surprise that Harry found he was alone once more. The nearby stairs seemed to glitter beckoningly out of the growing shadows, welcoming Harry up to the safety of Gryffindor Tower. He stumbled forward numbly, staggering through the first few steps before his body shifted to autopilot and began the long ascent in earnest. He desperately craved the sanctuary of the Tower and the safety of his own bed, but each clock he passed on the seven flights up to his dormitory reminded him in increasingly urgent increments that he still had a long evening ahead of him. The memory of cold hands, that cruel smile.... those eyes. There was something in those eyes that hadn't been there before, something that made the deepest, darkest parts of Harry's soul quiver with real fear. However, he couldn't figure out what it was- something was pulling desperately at his consciousness through the fog that had gathered in his mind over the months since the night in the Department of Mysteries. Since Sirius's death. Since-

The memories of that night returned in a barrage of snips and flashes: He could _feel_ the prophecy in his hand again, warm and thrumming and slippery from his sweaty palms. He could hear Ginny cry out in the distance and Ron screaming as the brain grabbed him. He could see the looks of betrayal on all their faces when they found out Harry had led them into a trap, the pleading desperation when they'd been captured. But then Sirius had been at his side, warm and solid and fighting- they had fought _together_, and Sirius had praised him (even if he _had_ called Harry "James"). And then... he was gone. Just, gone. He just fell through a stupid arch and his eyes went wide and he looked so young and scared and then he was _gone_. Who the bloody hell made an arch of _death_? But it didn't matter because Sirius was gone and it was Harry's fault and he hadn't even been able to avenge his godfather's death. He had just sat by and watched as Voldemort and Dumbledore fought, weak and powerless, but worst of all Snape had been right. His _mind_ was weak, Voldemort had... _penetrated_ it, that was the only word. It had been a dirty, slimy feeling, like something slithering under his skin and into his bones. When he thought about it too long, it was like he could feel it all over again. Cold and anger ripping him apart, spreading him open...

Harry's stomach at last lost patience with him, bile burning the back of his throat and unshed tears blinding him as he sprinted the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower. He barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach got the better of him, and Harry spent several long minutes choking and gagging before he was able to indulge in a brief respite of shallow, shuddering gulps of air. He swiped bitterly at his wet, puffy face and sniffled miserably, blaming these too on his traitorous stomach. Guilt, shame and fear had Harry's blood running hot despite the chills wracking his shoulders and chasing down into his trembling fingers, but he knew there was no time for this. Harry didn't need a clock to know he was going to be late- a half hour to climb all the way up to the Tower, grab his broom and make it down to the pitch would have been tight under the best of conditions. At the moment, Harry was simply proud that he was able to push aside the nauseating plague of thought and feeling long enough to stand, rinse out his mouth and splash his face with cold water. He didn't bother looking in the mirror- there was nothing there he had any desire to see at the moment.

Locating his broom gave Harry a slightly harder time, due to the extent of movement required and the way his head was beginning to throb from its intimate moment with the wall downstairs, but eventually that task was accomplished as well. Throwing his new winter cloak haphazardly around his shoulders, Harry took off down towards the common room and, ultimately, the stairs, at a near sprint. As he sped through the warmth of the common room Harry thought he heard Ron call after him, but merely muttered a quick "Quidditch practice," before barreling out through the portrait hole and taking off at a run down the stairs. Ron, and the equally surprised Hermione sitting beside him, wondered silently when Harry had started breaking curfew for practice he didn't need. However, both had learned since start of term to stop pressing Harry for the details of his solitary excursions, and eventually Hermione resumed her weak attempts to tutor Ron in Potions.

The glow of the rising moon was just beginning to make itself useful when Harry caught his first glimpse of the Quidditch pitch in the distance. As he ran, Harry mused how not so long ago that sight had made his heart soar, silencing the niggling voices of guilt and regret in the back of his mind and allowing him to briefly forget the responsibilities he knew his future held- he'd hoped to find that excitement and release again this year since his Quidditch ban had been lifted. It was more than that, though. Quidditch was the one skill Harry possessed that he felt genuinely proud of. Unlike the fame he acquired from his scar, Harry felt he was at least worthy of his Quidditch reputation and took great pride in it. However, dizzy and nauseous as he was, heart stuttering in his chest at the thought of what, or more accurately whom, awaited him, the only word that came to mind as the Quidditch pitch slowly drew closer was 'dread.' The distant tolling of the clock back at the school began to sound, slicing through Harry's thoughts. Eight o'clock. He was late. Weak, quivering legs broke into a run, carrying him as quickly as he could towards the slowly-approaching pitch. It felt as if he were running in slow motion, as if the darkness was tangibly thickening all around him. At last he fought his way through the night and passed into the circle of the stands, tiny and insignificant on the huge expanse of field. He looked around frantically, peering through the moon-glow darkness at the empty expanse of grass all around him and what little he could see of the uninhabited bleachers. The pitch was silent but for the soft fluttering of the house banners and the occasional call of night birds from the Forbidden Forest- in fact, the whole scene seemed eerie, uncanny taken so far from its usual context. Harry's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, though, and he took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh. The exhaled breath caught in his throat as there was a loud pop behind him and something hard and blunt came into contact with the back of his skull, sending him to his knees in pain and further distorting his already hazy vision. Harry looked up to see a tall form looming above him, barely a few shades darker than the night around them- the hazy shape of what appeared to be Harry's own broom was gripped tightly in his hand. Harry blinked, uncertain whether his pain addled brain, darkness dulled eyes or rapidly rising fear (likely a combination of the three) were to blame for the way the shadows seemed to be swirling and shifting around them, almost... almost _breathing_.

"You know, _Harry_, it's very rude to be late."

The handle of the broom came down like a blunt spear and Harry curled up, bracing his head and rolling into a ball. The broom stabbed into Harry's side, not quite breaking skin but forcing the breath from him in a violent wheeze. Before Harry was even able to process the overwhelming flood of pain the blow caused it was followed by a succession of swift, sharp kicks that pushed an involuntary groan out between his tightly clenched teeth. Harry's ribs protested, aching and burning sharply as he tried to breathe, and he spared a moment to pray nothing had been punctured. Dimly, Harry became aware of laughter, though the sound was distorted through the ringing in his ears- it sounded inhuman, unnatural, and it shook Harry to his core. He had little time to waste being afraid, though, for he found himself hoisted up by the front of his shirt and a fist connected hard with his left eye. The blow easily snapped his glasses in the middle, leaving a deep, jagged gash down the side of his nose and under the curve of his eye. Harry was so shocked he could not suppress the whimper of pain that accompanied the thick, hot trail of what he knew to be blood oozing down his cheek; he had _never_ hit Harry in the face before. He must be exceptionally angry tonight. Harry's heart beat faster, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead and slowly trickling down his cheeks despite the cold. This... this was getting out of hand. The sweat caused the freely-bleeding cuts to sting terribly, but Harry bit his lip to keep from making any further sounds, unwilling to provoke his tormentor further, or give him the satisfaction. Harry was having a hard time processing as hands seemed to emerge from the blackness, stroking his face and beckoning him into unconsciousness. The figure knelt down beside Harry's prone form, admiring the rapidly swelling black eye and the way the air was rattling sickly in the smaller boy's chest. A rough thumb explored the gash under Harry's eye, smearing the clotting blood and drawing another low whimper.

"Oh, sorry about that, Harry. That one's certainly going to sting tomorrow. I assume I've made my point, though? For future reference, I really, _really_ don't like to be kept waiting."

Harry managed to pry his good eye open, but without light or glasses it did him no good. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, but the sudden shock of cold as his cloak and jumper were ripped away distracted him, and the staggering pain of nails clawing down his bruised and most likely broken ribs chased the thought from his mind completely.

"Now, as promised, a little help getting you back in shape for the big game. Why don't we start by getting you reacquainted with your broom? After that Quidditch ban last year, I'm sure a little..."

He paused, absently plucking at Harry's belt buckle before unfastening it in a long, slow slide that made Harry cringe.

"_intimacy..."_

Harry's eyes were still useless in the dark, but he didn't need them to see the wide, maniacal grin splitting the other boy's face. It burned in his mind like neon, so bright he could _feel_ it in his skin.

"... would vastly improve your performance."

With the belt open and useless the cold hands met no resistance in dragging Harry's too-big trousers down to tangle around his knees, painfully twisting the strip of leather back around to pin his thrashing legs together. The fog of pain clouding Harry's mind was quickly beginning to dissipate, replaced instead by a spiking sense of panic. He lashed out at his captor with what remained of his strength, clawing and snarling wildly despite the fresh wave of pain the struggle caused.

"_Stop_.." Harry hissed, clenching his teeth as the other boy's full weight came down on him, pinning Harry's wrists to the ground so violently he could feel the fragile bones shifting beneath his skin. "Just... just _stop_, okay? I don't... I don't care anymore. I don't care, I don't care" Harry wheezed dazedly. "Sirius is already dead and the others-" His voice broke and he faltered. "I... I don't care." Harry could feel his pinned hands going numb and the cold grass was making him painfully aware of every inch of bare skin, but despite his confession the other boy showed no intent of moving. Panic was surging in Harry's chest, his growing desperation making him wild. "Didn't you hear me!? I _said_ I don't _care_! Just get _off_ me!"

The words burned pure shame into Harry's soul, pricking hot tears behind his closed eyes. Defeat was not something he was accustomed to and flat out surrender a concept he had never even imagined. He couldn't help it, though. Cuts and bruises and even broken bones were familiar pains to Harry, small discomforts he was willing to endure in exchange for some semblance of peace in the rest of his life. But this... this he hadn't signed up for. He felt weak and pathetic, disgusting, dirty even- there was, in fact, only one thing that could have made Harry's humiliation more complete, and he quickly discovered what it was. To his absolute horror the other boy merely gave an insane bark of a laugh, sending a light mist of spit over Harry.

"Oh, oh _Harry_, you're _precious_. Of course you care. You always care. And that's what makes this so _fun_."

Harry's shock made him pliant, and the other boy took the opportunity to grip the elastic waistband of Harry's pants and forcibly rip them off. The soft cotton stung horribly as it burned across his skin in stretched, tattered strips, drifting off a little at a time to join the remnants of his jumper on the field. All that remained were his trousers, still belted around his knees, and when cold, greedy hands began pressing fresh bruises into his bare thighs Harry resigned the last of his dignity.

"_Help!!"_

His voice cracked pathetically, and the other boy was laughing again, but Harry was beyond caring.

"_Help_! Please, help! HEL-"

A mouthful of dirt and grass muffled any further cries, choking Harry into silence. He assumed that the myriad of slaps and punches that followed were simply for good measure- they both knew Harry was not going anywhere. However, it was not until he was bordering on unconscious that the other boy stopped to roughly flip him over onto his stomach. For a moment, Harry felt relieved as he was able to spit out the last of the dirt and grass in his mouth, coughing violently until he threw up across the grass. Although he still couldn't see, the amount of liquid he felt forcing its way up his throat and the distinct metallic taste of it had Harry concerned. A bigger problem quickly caught Harry's attention, though, as he was roughly dragged to his pinioned knees, face forced into the grass he'd just thrown up on by a heavy hand in his hair. There was little fight left in him, but he struggled as best he could, managing to tilt his head to the side long enough to make a final cry for help. The sound had barely escaped when another blow caught him in the temple. Harry thought he might have blacked out for a moment, but he wasn't entirely sure. The darkness seemed to be glowing and the grass poking his nose and eyes looked so vividly green, sharp tipped and perfectly defined, that he found his attention wavering.

"... deserve this. It's all your fault, Harry...."

_"No..." _he sobbed, shoulders trembling as he spit out another small mouthful of what he was certain was blood.

_"_If they knew what _really _happened...."

"_No..."_

_"... _hate you."

Harry sobbed again.

"...deserve this."

When the pain came, it was worse than Harry could have ever imagined. It was blinding as it shot up his back, through his stomach and down his thighs, but it was more than just the pain. It just felt _wrong- _sick and dirty and wrong. His ribs protested as the other boy's weight came down on him fully, and Harry threw up again. Numbness was slow to creep in, but eventually it began in Harry's toes and spread up his bound lower legs. His fingers were beginning to go numb again as well, and all over his system seemed to be shutting down; he was vaguely aware of sharp pinpoints of sensation dragging down his back, and of the constant, pounding force ripping through his insides, but it was as if they belonged to someone else. The last thing Harry was aware of before analgesia gave way to unconsciousness was laughter- cold, pitiless, cruel laughter, and it chased something inside Harry away to a place where he hoped no one would ever find it again.


	2. The Arch Nemesis in Shining Armor

There were many things about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that Draco Malfoy simply could not understand, and did not believe he ever would. Things like why the owlery had to be so bloody high up, and why they were only given 10 minutes between classes in a school that included seven floors, a dungeon and multiple towers with bloody _moving staircases_ between. The most prominent, and frustrating, question on that list, though, was why on earth someone had deemed it necessary to put enchanted windows in the underground dungeon, complete with blinding morning sunlight. Without fail, that fake sunlight would blaze its way through the thick green and silver drapes around his bed, shining directly in his face. And it seemed, to Draco's constant annoyance, to actually be _brighter_ on Saturdays. This Saturday was no different. The fake sun wormed its way through unseen gaps in the heavy fabric, slapping Draco in the face with light and making him cringe and hiss in protest. He groaned as he pulled his pillow over his head, rubbing his face against the sheets and settling in for a few more hours of sleep. Almost instantly he turned back over, struggling in his twisted-up pajamas to sit up in bed. It was Saturday. The Saturday before the first Slytherin Quidditch game of the year.

Draco stumbled out of bed less-than-gracefully, still woozy with sleep and reluctantly kicking off the warm tangle of blankets that tried to follow him. Thankfully, though, none were concious to bare witness to the undignified spectacle he made; his roommates were still snoring at varying volumes from their separate beds and Draco tried his best to keep it that way as he quietly unlocked and shuffled through his trunk for his Quidditch uniform. It was still neatly packed away in its own corner, and it was with no small amount of reverance that he shook it loose and put it on. Team practice wouldn't start for at least another hour, but Draco wanted to get a head start. It wouldn't do for his teammates to see him slow and uncoordinated, no matter how early it was. A Malfoy was _always_ at his best in front of others, even if those "others" were supposedly his friends. It was with this in mind that he stood before the large corner mirror, smoothing out his sleep-curled hair and neatly lacing each individual fastening by hand. He was tempted to linger longer and fix the dark circles under his eyes, but the sun was creeping into the other beds now as well and he knew it wouldn't be long until his roommates woke. Broom in hand, Draco slipped silently from his room, through the empty common room and out into the equally deserted corridors.

Several times Draco found his feet trying to break into a run, but he tried to keep his pace even and unhurried. The mindless morning chatter of the students stumbling towards the Great Hall was clawing at his nerves, and the need to be out in the air was becoming unbearable, but Draco made himself bear it. He successfully kept his face mildly disdainful as he swept through the entryway and out the front doors of the castle, but no amount of self-control could stifle the wild grin that broke out as the fresh, cold air stung his face. The morning was perfect- an endless blue expanse of sky hung with huge, white puffy clouds that cast the ground below into rapid cycles of shade and sun. The stillness quickly calmed Draco's urge to run and he strolled down towards the Quidditch Pitch at a leisurely pace, enjoying the dark line of forest to his right and the slice of calm, murky lake far to his left.

The Pitch was quiet and tranquil in the morning sun when at last he reached it, and with a small, satisfied sigh he looked around; at the hoops high overhead, the tall towers outfitted in banners of the house colors, and the bleachers usually filled with cheering students and teachers, now empty. The entire area was indeed empty of proof anyone else had been there in some time, save for an abandoned, wadded up old cloak by the edge of the bleachers, perhaps a couple dozen meters away. Draco looked again, squinting through the sunlight. On second thought, the cloak wasn't old at all; it actually seemed to be new.

Curiosity piqued, he moved to investigate; after all, no use in getting House points needlessly deducted should it belong to a fellow Slytherin. Still anxious to be in the air but nosy as ever, Draco strode purposely towards the black mass of fabric. He was so fixated, in fact, that he would not have even noticed the Gryffindor tie he passed had it not tangled around his shoe and nearly tripped him. With a sneer he came to a halt, kicking off the offensive strip of fabric and turning with a huff to at last begin flying._ Stupid Gryffindors._ Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something else and turned back for a second look. Poking out from beneath the cloak, there appeared to be a _hand._ At first Draco gave a start at realizing he was not alone as he had first thought, but then his sleep addled mind caught to what he was seeing and the grin returned, though this time it was markedly more malicious; a trail of abandoned clothing and a cloak-covered figure sleeping on the bleachers could, after all, mean only one thing. Draco broke into a near trot as he neared and the mound of cloak, delightfully anxious to see which of the perfect Gryffindors he would get to blackmail. Again he was so distracted by his own thoughts that he did not see the object in his path, this time until it crunched loudly beneath his foot. Pausing and looking back, Draco's face lit up as he recognized the remains of all too familiar wire-rimmed glasses. Eager, wicked glee filled Draco and he wasted no time in closing the gap, grabbing a handful of wet, sticky cloak and pulling it back with a flourish. He meant to make a face at whatever mystery substance he had just unwittingly touched, but the sight that met him was so far from what he was expecting that the small discomfort was instantly forgotten.

Draco's joy turned instantly to shock and he stumbled back, jaw agape. A slowly rising sickness in his stomach had him swaying slightly on his feet, and his hands flew to his face where they fluttered uncertainly, not sure whether to cover his eyes or his mouth. Whatever desire he'd had in the past to see his rival hurt and suffering died instantly, for there before him, in true flesh and blood, was none other than Harry Potter: battered, beaten, and bloody.


	3. The Rescue

Draco stumbled back blindly, abruptly, and tripped on the hem of his robe. He tumbled to the ground with jarring force but his gaze never left the horrible site he had uncovered; he just... _stared_. It was all he could do.

Potter was, to put it mildly, a mess. One of his eyes was black and looked to be swollen shut, dark and angry against the too-pale skin of his cheek, stark against the deep cuts and clotted blood covering most of his face. His clothes were mostly missing or lingering in ripped shreds, exposing the black and blue canvas of skin stretched impossibly tight across his chest, sides and stomach. When had Potter gotten so... frail? No, _scrawny_. Draco could clearly see the outline of each individual rib, and several of them were quite obviously broken.

Draco gagged and quickly looked away, but regretted it even faster. Apart from the cloak that had been covering Potter the only other intact article of clothing were the other boy's trousers, belted around his knees so tightly Draco could see the bruising peeking out. It seemed to spread upwards from his knees in a stripe that slowly trailed off into dark blotches that overlapped in matching arches- Draco realized with growing disgust that they were the exact size and shape of... fingers. He shuddered again, and abruptly fell still as his gaze traveled higher. There was fresh, wet blood smeared across Potter's thighs, and he... his...

Draco's hand again flew to his face, and it was then he realized what the mystery substance had been. His fingers grazed his cheek, damp and sticky, and with a jolt he looked down at them, yelping with shock when he found them red. Blood. Potter's blood. Draco scrambled hastily to his feet, scrubbing his hands against his trousers. The world seemed to be tilting alarmingly, and he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was contaminating his uniform, but all he could care about was getting it _off_, getting it off _now._

Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult the longer he looked, but Draco found he just couldn't _stop_ looking. The emotions were racing through him so fast he barely had time to register one before the next took over; shock, disgust and fear, were most notable. Strangely enough, though, none of the myriad emotions consisted of any measure of joy or pleasure at seeing Potter's bruised, bloodied, broken body. Quite the opposite, in fact. Draco not only felt as if he were going to be ill, but it just felt... _wrong_. Not just _what_ he was seeing, but the fact that _he_ was the one seeing it. It was wrong. It shouldn't be him. Why him? He and Potter-

A thought struck Draco, and his eyes went huge and round, breath quick and shallow as fear tightened his chest. It was certainly no secret they despised each other; if he brought Potter in, the whole school would assume he'd done... _this_. Draco shuddered. He would get suspended, expelled, or, worst of all, forbidden to use magic ever again. Those thoughts disappeared quickly though as the silence was broken- there was a low, pathetic whine followed by a choking, gurgling noise, and Draco very nearly lept from his skin. Potter.. Potter was _alive_? Perhaps, but just barely, and... oh, Merlin, _conscious_. Draco's heart hammered painfully fast in his chest- he had been so shocked he hadn't even _thought_ about whether or not Potter was alive, and he certainly wasn't going to _check._ He would have to _touch_ Potter to do that. Another shudder. Draco noticed Potter's lips were beginning to turn light blue, either from lack of oxygen or overexposure during the cold October night, and occasional tremors were beginning to seize the pathetic mess of a boy before him, each more violent than the last. Then came the sporadic wheezing breaths, which made wet schwelching noises that made Draco want to cover his ears, and... ugh, Potter's ribs were still poking up against his skin at wrong angles.

Draco bit his lip, hands twitching indecisively at his sides as he anxiously shifted from one foot to the other. What to do? What to do? _Bloody hell_, what to _do?_ And then, as suddenly as it had all started it just... stopped. Potter's tremors ended so abruptly Draco wondered if he'd seen them at all, and the wheezing little breaths he hadn't even registered at first left a huge, gaping hole of silence when they stopped. Just... _stopped._ Before he was even aware of what he was doing Draco wrapped the cloak tightly back around Potter's cold, motionless body and akwardly hoisted him up, almost tumbling backwards when he vastly over-anticipated the other boy's weight- maybe "fragile" had been the more accurate adjective. His arch-nemesis cradled carefully in his arms, Draco burst into a sprint towards Hogwarts, all thoughts of decorum vanishing in the face of events he'd never imagined. Silence quickly swallowed the Quidditch pitch behind them, a few shreds of fabric and Draco's abandoned broom the only evidence left of the horrors so recently passed. The night was gone with the brisk morning breeze, and only a sole figure high in the stands was present to lament Draco's unfortunate morning.

Draco couldn't recall having ever run so fast in his life- he didn't think he could've run any faster if Voldemort himself had been at his heels. And yet, Hogwarts had never seemed so far away from the Quidditch pitch. Draco's lungs were beginning to burn from the cold air he had so recently enjoyed, and his eyes were watering from the wind. It seemed he at last had a reason for the run he had been itching for all morning, and he was rapidly resenting it. After what seemed liked hours he reached the front doors to Hogwarts, struggling briefly to get them open and nearly running over a few early risers as he bolted inside.

The groggier students merely stared after him in confusion or disbelief, but a few laughs and cutting jibes chased Draco up the stairs. They were the least of his worries at the moment, though.

Sprinting up the stairs to the hospital, Draco barreled past Ron and Hermione on their way down to breakfast. They gawked at him openly as he ran by, making no attempt to mask their interest; Ron laughed in loud approval at Malfoy's disheveled appearance, but as they slowly trekked the rest of the way down the stairs Hermione couldn't help occasionally glancing over her shoulder uncertainly. It wouldn't be until sometime later, over pumpkin juice and muffins, that they would realize the strange bundle Malfoy had been carrying was wrapped in Harry's new winter cloak.

Madam Pomfrey was just making up the last bed when Draco burst through the door. His mouth gaped fish-like as he gasped for breath after the long run, lungs drawing in and expelling air so violently he couldn't even speak. He deposited the cloak and its startling contents on the closest bed as carefully as he could before sliding to a messy heap on the floor, resting his forehead against the mattress and trying to regain himself. Peeling the sticky black fabric back carefully, the veteran nurse all but fainted. Crying out, she rushed to gather armfuls of strange, unlabeled bottles, momentarily forgetting Draco in her haste until she tripped over him, scowling down at were he sat sprawled and panting on the floor.

"Out! Now! Go and fetch Professor Dumbledore _immediately_!"

Her voice became quite shrill as she shooed him out, the doors slamming themselves shut behind him and he was running again.

By then nearly all the teachers were seated and chatting amiably at the staff table, sipping glasses of warm pumpkin juice or hot cocoa. Trays of food were already spread across the house tables, and students were just beginning to pour in in earnest. The sun was peeking over the eastern most corner of the enchanted ceiling, and a low, pleasant hum of chatter filled the Great Hall, creating a bubble of welcoming warmth that all present seemed unwilling to break.

The sound of outraged squawks and raised voices began at a distance, perking only a few ears, but quickly grew in volume. It echoed alongside quick footsteps as one very out of breath, slightly disheveled Draco Malfoy ran breathless and panting into the hall. Draco realized belatedly as he spotted Dumbledore far ahead that not only was he was still wearing his Quidditch uniform, but he was becoming painfully suspicious that it might have blood on it. Potter's blood. Draco hiccuped as he ran, and thought it might possibly be the only thing more painful than the multitude of scrutinizing eyes that hit him as he barreled into the Great Hall. All conversation at the staff table halted immediately as he approached, but Dumbledore's weathered face remained kind and patient as he waited for Draco to catch his breath enough to gasp the only words needed:

"Dumble..dore… Potter… hurt… emergency.. hospital… hurry…"

Draco pointed out in the direction of the hall, and up to indicate the Hospital Wing, afraid that he was too breathless to be properly understood. The entire hall had fallen completely silent, the bright, welcoming demeanor instantly serious. Standing, Dumbledore turned and addressed the stricken witch sitting directly to his right.

"Minerva, kindly oversee the breakfast for me this morning, and any problems that might arise before I am able to see to them."

And with that he turned, motioning for Draco to follow him as he made to exit the Great Hall. Dumbledore's heeled boots clicked against the stone floor loudly in the silence, accompanied only by the soft padding of Draco's own dragonhide Quidditch boots. A stupor had fallen over the stunned students, and the retreating forms of the elderly Headmaster and the still-winded Slytherin had reached the staircase by the time Ron and Hermione had spurred themselves into action. It seemed as if the whole of Gryffindor table rose with them, but Hermione hastily glared them back into their seats before fairly flying after Ron.

Draco paused a moment at the foot of the stairs, staring miserably after Dumbledore before he began plodding back up the stairs reluctantly. His pause, while brief, allowed the fuming Weasely to catch up.

"Malfoy!" he hissed angrily, grabbing Draco by the front of his robes and nearly lifting him in his anger. "What the _bloody hell_ did you _do_ to Harry?"

Draco's eyes went went, and he tried to raise his hands in protest.

"_Ronald_," Hermione seemed to appear from nowhere, clutching Ron by the wrist and nodding meaningfully up the stairs. Dumbledore had almost reached the top of the first flight, but was quite easily still in hearing range. Draco caught a fleeting glimpse behind them at the Hall and realized with growing dread that Dumbledore was not the only one undoubtedly listening- they had attracted quite a sizable audience.

"…Not… Here…" huffed Malfoy, now on his third sprint on the stairs within the past 15 minutes. Though clearly reluctant, the two Gryffindors quickly moved to follow Dumbledore, leaving Draco staring after them at the long ascent ahead of him. Cursing under his ragged breath and throwing a furious scowl over his shoulder at the startled crowd behind them he at last broke into a run once more, chasing after them up the stairs.

Draco reached the Hospital in time to see Dumbledore pause before the massive oak doors, Ron and Hermione standing uncertainly behind him.

"Kindly wait here. I will return shortly."

He seemed perfectly calm now, voice clear and level, but he did not turn to look at them. He seemed, to Draco, very very old all of a sudden, and very small. With that, the massive doors creaked open, just a crack large enough for Dumbledore to slip through, before they closed again. The sound of a heavy lock turning and the dead silence that followed seemed to undo the last of Ron's resolve. He spun on Draco, ears burning pink and shoulders tensed for a fight.

"_What_ did you _do_ to him, Malfoy?"

Ron was quivering from head to foot, color suffusing every centimeter of pasty, freckled skin. Draco, who was hunched forward in an attempt to catch his breath, hastily looked up, shaking his head and again raising his hands as if to ward off the angry stares directed at him. His lungs felt as if they were on _fire_, burning and aching and too tight for the unseemly ammount of oxygen he suddenly seemed to need. His legs, meanwhile, had gone completely numb other than a dull, wide-spread throbbing, and Draco worried they might collapse beneath him altogether. Ron was blindly groping inside his robe for his wand, but before Draco's hazy mind could even begin to react Hermione's hand was on Ron's wrist again, easily catching and stilling it as if she had done so a hundred times. Ron flushed even darker, if possible, and with a derisive mental snort Draco decided "a hundred times" was probably a very conservative estimate.

"No, Ron… I think, for once, I'd like to hear what Malfoy has to say."

His legs really were about to buckle, Draco could feel it, but he managed the last few shaky steps to a nearby pillar before sinking to the floor with as much grace as he could muster, which was not very much.

"Fine, Granger. Ask… whatever you want…"

He panted, but at last his thundering heart was beginning to slow, and his breath was gradually returning. His voice was low and hollow in his own ears, though, and as the adrenaline slowly bled out of him he realized how truly weak and exhausted he felt. '_He almost looks... sad_,' Hermione couldn't help thinking to herself. However, though she was not quite ready to see Ron resort to fists, she had dealt with Slytherins, and Malfoy in particular, enough in the past to keep her suspicions wrapped securely around her. She moved a few cautious steps closer to where Draco was sitting, towing an obviously reluctant Ron behind her and very nearly forcing him to sit down beside her opposite Malfoy. They whispered briefly, too low for him to hear, but when they at last turned to face him Ron was eerily silent.

"What happened to Harry?"

Hermione's voice was nearly as cool and level as Dumbledore's had been, but Draco could feel her eyes burning into him and he knew she most likely had her hand on her own wand as well, buried beneath her robes.

"I… don't really know."

Draco faltered, instantly ashamed of the obvious tremor in his voice but having difficulty suppressing the sudden, urgent need to _talk._

"I.. I went out to the Quidditch pitch this morning, around six I think. I don't know. I wanted to practice a bit on my own for the match next Saturday, and when I got there, I saw the cloak wadded up on the bleachers. I took a closer look to see whose it was, and I saw a hand sticking out. I pulled the cloak back and… there was Potter…"

Draco's voice trailed off uncertainly, and he was so overcome by a strange rush of heat and nausea that he completely missed the way Hermione was staring at him as if he'd struck her. Her mind simply could not process what Malfoy had just said. There was too much information packed too closely together, all of which made no sense at all. Harry hadn't made it back?? She felt sick with guilt and fear at the thought. They had just seen him last night, had watched him leave, had _let_ him leave. They had both known something was off, but they had let it go. They had let Harry go. She looked at Ron frantically, abandoning her concealed wand in favor of seeking out Ron's hand. The blank look on Ron's face did not so much as flicker- he didn't even notice the clammy hand painfully gripping his own.

"Wha...?" he breathed dumbly. But, how had he not noticed? How had he not noticed Harry never came back? Hadn't he tried to wake Harry for breakfast that morning? Ron desperately tried to think back, but found a gaping hole where the memory should be. He must have still been too asleep- he couldn't remember much of anything before running into Malfoy on the stairs before breakfast.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other uncertainly. They both felt guilty- they could read it on each other's faces. Hermione's suspicions had not diminished, though. If possible they had increased. The likelihood of her and Ron just _not noticing_ that Harry hadn't come back to the dorms was very small, minuscule, in fact, next to the likelihood that Malfoy was lying. She spared him another glance, and to her dismay felt her heart seize a little. Malfoy looked... genuinely upset. Sad, or even... scared, perhaps. Hermione realized that she did not really know the Slytherin well enough to tell, and as quickly as her concern had surfaced it disappeared. This was _Malfoy_. Of course he would try to trick them if he really had been the one to hurt Harry- Malfoy was always telling lies and half-truths to get himself out of trouble. Why did she think this was any different? But still...

"He was… beat up." Hermione started at the voice that broke the silence, unable to believe the timid, hushed tone could really belong to _Malfoy_. His eyes were equally empty as they stared blankly into the crevices of the smooth, worn stone of the floor.

"It was... really bad. I swear, I thought I was going to be sick. His clothes were ripped, and he was covered in bruises and blood, and… oh, Merlin…"

Draco pitched forward, hands over his face and his head between his knees, bile rising in his throat as his brain replayed an image of Potter, beaten and ripped up and bleeding everywhere. It was like he could still _smell_ the blood. He reluctantly opened his eyes, and nearly jumped out of his skin entirely when he saw that he could, in fact, smell the blood- it was imbedded in the tiny swirls and ridges of his palm, caked under his nails and undoubtedly rubbing off on his face that very moment. He violently jerked backwards, banging his head on the pillar behind him.

Hermione instantly sprang forward despite herself, all thoughts of caution and suspicion gone. Had Malfoy just fainted? She knelt beside him, placing a timid hand on his shoulder, searching his dazed face. The moment Draco's eyes refocused he recoiled sharply, pulling away from the contact with a hissed, "_don't touch me, Granger_." Hermione withdrew her hand and stumbled uncertainly back to her seat beside Ron, confused as ever that while Malfoy was still a cold, heartless bastard, he was obviously too shaken by the entire thing to remember to call her "Mudblood".

"And… what, Malfoy? What.. what happened?" Ron demanded, eyes narrowing. "What aren't you telling us?"

Draco remained silent, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them, closing his eyes. He felt exhausted, sick, and slightly dizzy. Hermione couldn't help but think he looked rather fragile just then, despite his reaction a moment earlier. Before either Gryffindor could push further, however, the doors to the hospital groaned open and Professor Dumbledore slipped out much the same way he entered, still gazing intently into the Hospital even as he gently pulled the doors shut. The heavy lock clicked into place once more, and Dumbledore stood silent and unmoving for what seemed a very long time. When at last he turned to face them he looked very pale and slightly green, but he put on a small, brave smile as he approached the three students sitting silently on the floor.

"Mr. Malfoy, I would like to speak with you in my office."

The cheery, slightly eccentric light about him was gone, not a trace of it left behind. Even the vibrant plum robes and pointy moon and star embroidered hat he wore seemed suddenly very dignified and serious as he towered over them. Draco nodded solemnly and staggered rather unsteadily to his feet, stepping past the two highly affronted Gryffindors. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, mouths gaping silently, another shocking insult in a morning full of many others. Seeming to sense their distress, Professor Dumbledore turned to face them.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, I would like speak with you both as well."

They started to rise immediately, but the Headmaster held up a hand to stop them.

"A half hour, should be sufficient. I believe you know where my office can be found. The password is 'Jelly Slugs'. "

Ron and Hermione nodded and Dumbledore turned to set off back down the stairs, Draco trailing silently behind him.

Dumbledore's office was the same as Draco remembered it being the small handful of times he had had the misfortune of being "invited" to it before- small, cluttered, but somehow unnervingly inviting. With a heavy sigh Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk, which was hidden beneath an overwhelming mound of what Draco could only classify as _stuff, _it was so multifarious. With a flick of his wand, though, a drawer opened and the numerous lengths of parchment rolled themselves up and across the cluttered expanse to settle neatly inside of the massive wooden desk. A meandering trail of cookie crumbs soon followed suite, then several brightly colored quill pins and a few half-empty bottles of ink. Almost as soon as room enough had been cleared a steaming teapot and two cups appeared, and a chair pulled itself up opposite the desk. Draco thankfully collapsed into it, body heavy with fatigue.

"Tea, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco declined politely, too queasy, and too anxious to hear what Dumbledore had to say. Draco let his head fall back against the chair with a soft 'thud'. What had he been _thinking?_

"Mr. Malfoy, I wish to thank you for most undoubtedly saving Mr. Potter's life. If it had not been for you, I fear he would have died."

That sentence was so strange Draco's ears at first refused to take it in at all, but once the message reached his brain the relief at hearing those strange words was unfathomable. A myriad of questions began to vie for his attention, but he was still so busy trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had just saved _Harry Potter's_ life that the first to reach his lips was the last he had ever meant to voice aloud.

"He's… alright then? He'll be okay?"

Draco felt his heartbeat quicken and his cheeks flush, utterly embarrassed that he had sounded so… concerned… over the state of the boy to whom he had devoted five years of bitter hatred. This, however, only made Dumbledore smile.

"Yes, my boy, he will be fine. It will take some time, though, I'm afraid. Whoever did this to Mr. Potter… I don't believe they intended for him to… survive."

Dumbledore's voice sounded very pained, as if he were trying his very hardest not to cry. Draco recoiled at the very thought of Dumbledore crying, but this statement, of course, led to what he had intended as his first question:

"You… don't think it was me, then?"

Dumbledore sighed again, removing the half-moon glasses and rubbing his eyes and forehead as if they hurt terribly.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, I do not believe it was you. I've watched you and Mr. Potter argue since you were eleven years old, and I am quite aware this heinous act is not in the spirit of your rivalry. I fear others will not be so quick to believe this, however. It would probably be best if you refrained from divulging the details of this morning to anyone until we are able to clear your name. You are willing to give a documented statement under Veritaserum, I assume?"

Draco paled.

"But, sir, I thought... I thought it was _illegal_ to use that on students."

This was too unreal. Veritaserum? Paper work? And all the while, in the back of his mind, Draco couldn't help but think about his father's last words to him before being taken to Azkaban: Voldemort would be summoning him soon, and when the time came Draco would be expected to play an important role in the Dark Lord's rising. But what would Voldemort do when he discovered that Draco had confessed, under Veritaserum no less, to saving _Harry Potter's_ life? Bloody hell- _an official statement_? Under _Veritaserum_? Draco was growing frantic. Maybe clearing his name wasn't such a good idea. Bloody hell, what if Voldemort's plan was for him to _kill_ Potter, and he had just _saved_ the git? That would certainly be ironic. Oh, this was bad. He was stuck- damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Who would he rather face, the wizarding world and Azkaban, or a betrayed Dark Lord?

Dumbledore watched Draco's internal dilemma over the top of his glasses, face inscrutable.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have found in life that, when forced to choose the lesser of two evils, it is often best to instead choose the course of action that _you_ feel is _right_. None of us can ever truly know what outcome our choices may have, but at least in that way, even if you cannot live with others, at least you can live with yourself."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at the obvious attempt at reassurance that hit so precisely on his exact thoughts, but he knew, deep down, the Headmaster was right. It was not dissimilar advice than that he had given himself on numerous occasions. Those instances, however, had been remidied by a _lack_ of participation on his part. The absence of action was easy to manipulate- he had never done anything particularly_ good_ or _bad_, but he had also never explicitly refused to do either before, allowing him to play whichever role a particular situation required of him. But this would be it- he would be declaring his alliance once and for all by publically admitting, under Veritaserum, that he had willing saved Harry Potter's life when no one had been around to be the wiser for it. All he had had to do was _nothing, _just as he always did, and in a few minutes this problem would have disappeared forever. He could have run, could have pretended he hadn't seen it. He could still refuse...

"I..."

Draco paused, a thought striking him suddenly. There was only one person in the school more skilled than he at playing both sides of the growing war, and if he agreed to help, Draco still had a chance of getting through this relatively unscathed.

"I'll do it. As long as Professor Snape brews and administers the potion himself."

Dumbledore's eyes widened imperceptibly, but he nodded nonetheless. There was a knowledge in the young Slytherin's eyes that made something drop in the pit of Dumbledore's stomach, and he immediately began to dread the inevitable conversation he would have with Severus. The Headmaster stared at Draco for a long moment, his mouth a hard, pale line, before at last he sighed.

"I will see what I can do, Mr. Malfoy."

Another thought had occurred to Draco, though, and while he knew it would be useless in the long run he had to ask.

"Sir...

Draco was beginning to feeling increasingly uneasy (if possible). Another thought had popped into his head, and it made him hate himself even more than he already did (if possible).

"Sir, I was wondering if there is any way you could avoid informing my parents. I know that when news gets out about Potter they'll find out eventually, but, if you don't have to..."

Draco trailed off, staring down at his hands balled up in his lap. He tried to concentrate on the way the leather of his fingerless Quidditch gloves creased and curved, cutting slightly into his skin; all he could see, though, were the tears that would turn his mother's perfect porcelain skin red and splotchy and the furious, disgusted sneer that would consume his father's face when he heard. Oh, Merlin, even Azkaban would not be able to hold Lucius Malfoy when he found out what his son had done. Draco was so deeply consumed by thought that he completely missed Dumbledore's small, ironic smile.

"Mr. Malfoy, I think you would be surprised to learn how forgiving people can be of those they love most. However, if I'm not mistaken you are 16 years old?"

Draco had to try _very_ hard not to bite back at the Headmaster for talking as if he knew about things which he quite obviously did not, but he begrudgingly nodded.

"The age of Majority within the wizarding world is, by law, the same as the Muggle age of Majority for the corresponding location. This fine school happens to be located in Scotland, which has a Majority age of 16. It would seem, then, that during term you are technically considered a resident of this school, and therefore of Scotland- in other words, while at Hogwarts you are considered a legal adult. I do not see any reason, then, why I would need to contact your parents. After all, you are not in any trouble, and as a legal adult you are capable of signing the necessary forms yourself."

Draco's eyes narrowed. More paperwork?

"Forms? What kind of forms? And why doesn't anyone else know that we're technically adults when we're here?"

"As you said yourself, it is illegal for the staff of this school to force a student to take Veritaserum. However, it is permissable with a signed consent form, either from the individual or from their parents or guardians if they are a minor. As for being adults, this does not give 6th and 7th year students as much power as you seem to believe, Mr. Malfoy. The rules of this school still apply, and breaking those rules can still result in expulsion. However, have you not noticed that now _all_ the students in your year and above can visit Hogsmead, not just those with signed permission forms?"

Draco opened his mouth to investigate this interesting loophole further, but Dumbledore quickly rushed on.

"Ah, if I'm not mistaken Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasely will be arriving shortly, and I get the sneaking suspicion you'd rather avoid their company at the moment. I will speak with Professor Snape as you have requested and see if he is willing and able to accommodate you under these unusual circumstances."

Dumbledore smiled kindly as he stood, and Draco found himself halfway to the door before he'd even been aware of standing himself.

"Umm... thank you, sir."

Draco nodded politely to the elderly Headmaster before taking the spiral staircase back down to the second floor of the castle, plodding wearily off towards the main staircase. He had just turned the corner when Ron and Hermione came around the opposite end of the hall, talking quietly to each other as they approached the spiraling golden staircase.


	4. The Smirk

Draco's eyes darted around nervously as he slid into the Slytherin Common Room, prepared for an instant verbal (or possibly even physical) assault. He was intensely surprised and relieved, however, to find it empty. _'Most likely out gossiping about Potter,'_ he thought bitterly, relief quickly darkening to dread once more. He sighed, trudging up the stairs to his also-empty dormitory, now growing a little suspicious at the pronounced lack of people. Too tired to give it much thought at the moment, Draco stumbled the last few steps to his bed and flopped gracelessly onto the mattress face first, not even bothering to remove the Quidditch gear he was _still_ wearing, which was _still_ covered with Potter's blood. _Damn._ Dejectedly Draco decided it wasn't worth the bother getting up and changing, considering his bed was already contaminated at that point, and opted to tug the curtains closed halfheartedly, casting himself into semi-darkness.

"_Bloody hell..._"

He groaned miserably. After the way he'd burst into the Great Hall that morning, he knew the school would be buzzing about Potter. Worst of all, though, was the inevitable talk about his own involvement in the whole unfolding drama. Regardless of Dumbledore's "suggestion" that he remain silent on the subject, he knew there would be no avoiding the barrage of questions ahead. Draco's face was still burried in the blankets exactly as he had fallen, and it was rapidly becoming overly-warm and stuffy. He chuckled darkly into the smothering blankets as they began to shift from "stuffy" to "suffocating." His lungs were beginning to burn, and he was beginning to feel light headed. "_That certainly would make things easier..."_ he thought to himself bitterly, but eventually he rolled onto his back in a limp, boneless heap and sucked in several huge lungfuls of cold air. His face was red and splotchy, he knew, and his hair undoubtedly wild. He needed a shower, badly, but simply couldn't be arsed at the moment.

Why did _he_ of all people have to be the one to find Potter? Why _Potter_, even? What were the odds? It was _Harry Potter_, for Merlin's sake, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-Worshipped; who would dare attack him at Hogwarts? Draco's mind wandered back to the meeting with Dumbledore and the strange, tired look in those yellowed eyes. He'd said whoever did this to Potter didn't mean for him to… survive. Who would want to kill Potter? Well, that was a rather obvious list. But this wasn't _just_ attempted murder though, or even simple hatred for that matter. Even _he,_ who had spent a lifetime hating Harry Potter and five years making his life miserable whenever possible, couldn't comprehend the depth of loathing necessary to do… _that._ The nausea Draco had been fighting all morning was rapidly returning as an image of Potter forcibly shoved itself to the front of his mind, clear and vivid: the way he could see Potter's ribs jutting at wrong angles against a thin layer of blue and purple skin, that horrible gurgling noise as the other boy had tried to breathe, all the blood... Merlin, _so much blood._ Draco barely made it to the bathroom before his heaving stomach at last had its way.

Even after Draco's stomach had convinced itself it was empty, he did not feel any better. He sat on the cold tile floor for what seemed like hours, trying to clear his mind of everything Harry Potter related. He thought about the Potions test on Monday, and the upcoming Quidditch match, only just realizing he'd left his broom down at the pitch that morning when…. No, no, no, not going there. Alright, back to the Potions test. Nice, safe topic. Draco was certain the test would be impossibly easy, and as such had no intention of studying. All the written portion would consist of was a memorized list of ingredients and their properties, and the formula for adjusting the proportions as needed. They'd already made the potion the previous day and handed it in to be graded- ah, the look on Snape's face had been priceless when Potter had… _NO_! No, no not good. Draco was becoming increasingly unsettled as each topic continuously led back to Harry Potter.

Luckily, or perhaps not, Draco's growing panic was interrupted as the door leading into the dormitory opened and his roommates loudly bustled in, only a thin, unlocked door away. Draco strained to listen, intensely curious to hear what they had to say when they thought he could not hear. Crabbe and Goyle were gafawing loudly, Blaise's low, melodious voice barely audible over their squawks. He seemed to be talking about something to do with Neville Longbottom's toad, Mrs. Norris and chocolate pudding. Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite suppress a smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Getting shakily to his feet, Draco rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face with icy water, shivering but thankful for the distraction. He straightened his hair and swore when he realized his clothes were _still_ bloody, hastily casting the only cleansing charm he knew. It took out the worst of the stains- now he just looked like he'd spilled pumpkin juice down his front. Brilliant. It couldn't be put off any longer, though. He would have to face them sometime. Still wishing he'd had time to do something about the deep circles growing darker under his eyes, Draco at last surrendered to the inevitable and slipped silently out into the room. He attempted to look both casual and aloof, hoping to either intimidate or be ignored, but failed at both. Crabbe and Goyle, first one and then the other, fell into abrupt, awkward silence upon spotting him. Draco froze, contemplating making a dive for the door, but it was too late; never one to miss a social cue, Blaise too fell silent almost immediately and turned to investigate the source of the interruption, face brightening disturbingly upon spotting Draco.

"Draco! The man of the morning! _Well_? Is it true then? Did you really... you know." He leaned forward, conspiratorially, and whispered, "_shag_ Potter?"

Draco's eyes went huge, and if he hadn't sat down on the nearest trunk when he did, he thought his legs might well have given out beneath him. Though, at that point Draco was beginning to move from the "collapse in shock" phase of the morning to the "beat the bloody bollocks off anyone or anything in his way" phase. Come to think of it, he _was_ still wearing his Quidditch boots.

"_Blaise_, you... that's... that's _disgusting_. How could you even... is.. is _that_ what they're saying?"

Draco's face was going red and splotchy again, and he could feel deep crescents developing where his nails were digging into his palm. Crabbe and Goyle gave him a sympathetic look, but Blaise was unrepentant.

"Oh come on, you know what they say about love and hate." Blaise jibed, nudging Crabbe with his elbow and nodding meaningfully. Draco sputtered, mouth flapping despite his inability to produce sound. He lunged to his feet furiously, too agitated to waste time on magic, fairly snarling. The adrenaline was back full field, and it would not be dismissed so easily this time.

Blaise sobered immediately, taking a step back.

"Blimey, Draco, hold up."

He raised his hands in surrender, palms out. He had seen Draco like this a tiny handful of times; eyes wild and terrifying, face flushed and teeth bared, but it had never before been directed at him. Draco's tightly knit composure was completely gone. He looked... "feral," was the only word that came to mind. Blaise had no clue how exactly he had pushed the other boy to this so quickly, but from experience when Draco reacted like this it was rarely without good cause, and it never ended well.

Crabbe and Goyle were slowly shifting to a nearby corner, and Draco was rapidly closing the distance between himself and Blaise.

A knock at the door froze them all in place, and when Pansy poked her head in and smiled at them innocently from beneath her bangs the tension seemed to shatter.

"Well, are you ladies going to stand around waffling all day, or come down to lunch? If we don't hurry the first years will eat all of the mint humbugs- _again_!"

She gave them all a mock glare, hands on her hips, and took the opportunity to glance nervously between Draco and Blaise. Whatever happened had obviously been about to go _very_ bad, but at least seemed to be quickly dissipating. Draco looked very tired. Crabbe and Goyle needed no further persuasion and gratefully slipped out past Pansy and down to the Common Room.

"I have to change."

Draco's voice was flat as he stomped to his trunk and threw it open, snatching up trousers, shirt and robes before disappearing back into the bathroom. Pansy and Blaise shared a wince as the door slammed. A deep sigh and Blaise joined her, sneeking a worried look over his shoulder before wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. They walked in silence down to the Common Room to wait.

As he shed his dirty Quidditch uniform Draco took a deep, shaky breath, resolving to put all thoughts of Potter aside and get on about his life per usual. He had done his part as a fellow student to help the Gryffindor in his time of need, and yes, perhaps it would have its consequences. But it was too late to undo it now. Draco firmly shoved all thoughts of Harry Potter from his mind and set out to return to his life as normal- easier said than done, unfortunately.

By the time he reached the Great Hall, Draco had been reminded of Potter _three_ times- the first of which occurred before he could even make it out of the common room. As he had made to join the others waiting for him by the fire, Millicent Bulstrode had seemingly appeared from nowhere, quickly pulling him aside and whispering urgently. On her way back to the dormitory she had passed by Snape's office, where she had overheard a rather heated conversation between their Head of House and Urquhart, the Slytherin Quidditch captain. Snape was furious: Urquat was actually trying to get Draco, their own _Seeker_, written up for missing practice and abuse of school property- for leaving his _own_ broom out! One of the brooms which his _own father_ had purchased for the team. _His_ broom, which he had only left out in the first place because- Draco pailed, quickly turning and ducking out of the common room before she'd even finished. Pansy watched as Draco bolted from the room, nudging Blaise and nodding towards the door. He looked up as well and quickly made to follow, but Pansy stopped him. Whatever was going on, their presence was only going to aggravate the situation further at the moment. Their time would be better spent finding out what Millicent had said that sent Draco running.

Draco was intensely thankful for the solitude as he trudged through the dungeons, and the rest of the walk down to the Great Hall (about 10 minutes, he guessed) had been fairly successful in the "not thinking of Potter" department. That is, until he reached the entryway outside the doors to the Great Hall- just in time to see Dumbledore walking in. Draco came to an abrupt hault, suddenly unsure he was up to this after all and wishing he hadn't left the others in the common room. However, before he had a chance to turn tail and sprint back to Slytherin he was bumped hard from behind, causing him to stumble forward. He spun on his heels, ready to explode at whatever poor sod had had the rotten luck to stumble into an irate Draco Malfoy. What he found, though, was Ron Weasley, ears flaming red again ("more likely _still_ flaming," Draco laughed to himself_)_ and hands shaking in furious fists. Beside him was a very startled Granger. Draco noticed, with some amusement, that her hand flew instantly to her wand.

"You should watch where you're going, _Malfoy." _Ron snapped, ginger hair practically standing on end. "Wouldn't want _you_ running into a spot of trouble."

"_Ron_!"

Hermione hissed- she looked truly shocked, gasping and grabbing Ron by a great handful of robe when he looked as though he might pounce. Draco held his ground, perfectly aware of what was happening and content to watch it with veiled amusement. Weasely was... _distraught_, and looking to vent on the only other person who was even remotely involved: Draco, of course. He knew he could easily slip back into the anger he'd felt earlier and give Weasely the fight he was looking for (and the sound beating he deserved). However, a fight would make Weasely _feel_ better, and Draco was not about to give him the satisfaction. The fact that he was completely and utterly exhausted made the indignity of it all go down much smoother.

"My mistake, _Ronald_. After you."

Draco stood to the side, unblocking their path and motioning them forward with a flourish. Ron went from red to purple in roughly two seconds, but Hermione quickly used her hold on his sleeve to drag him forward. She silently mouthed a "thank you" at Draco behind Ron's back, and he _almost_ couldn't supress the laughter that time. How presumptuous of her.

What Draco hadn't noticed before, though, was that they weren't alone. Behind them stood another, older Weasley. What was his name? Charlton? No. Chandler? No. Charlie? Maybe. Whichever Weasely had brought the dragons for the Triwizard Tournament. At any rate, Draco was aware the older Weasely had been staying at Hogwarts frequently since start of term. Dumbledore had mentioned it at the welcoming feast, now that he thought about it. But what had he said? Charlie's welcoming feast introduction was a pin-prick hole in his usually impeccable memory, but he seemed to recall school chatter mentioning Hagrid may or may not be keeping something in the old storage shed down by the lake. If the "something" happened to be another dragon egg, that might explain the new Weasely's presence. _'Stupid unhygienic sod'_, Draco sneered mentally, _'thought he would've given up on dangerous creatures by now.'_ Draco met the muddy brown eyes scrutinizing him and nodded politely. To his utter shock, the older Weasley smirked at him. An actual, Malfoy-worthy smirk. Draco's stomach gave a strange, sick sort of twitch, followed by a sinking feeling as he silently followed the trio into the hall, stalking quietly over to the Slytherin table. Eventually Pansy and the others arrived, but he barely took notice. He sat there while they ate, staring dejectedly into a cold bowl of tomato soup and trying desperately to block out the voices all around him. Each whisper he heard painfully snagged his attention, and it seemed as if his name was coming from every direction. What were they saying? The few times he'd looked up throughout lunch he had been met with dozens of wide, startled eyes from around the hall, all of which abruptly turned away upon being caught. Then the _murmuring_ would begin, and the _laughter_. Were they laughing at him? What were they _saying_? Draco didn't bother to wait around for the mint humbugs- he preferred jam donuts anyway.

As it turned out, Draco didn't do much eating that weekend. Or much sleeping. He didn't end up doing much of anything, in fact, besides pacing and cursing. He'd paced his room, of course, and the common room. Then the owlery, and the long maze of dungeon corridors. The cursing remained constant and consistent. Since discovering Potter, he had gone a total of _ten minutes_ without thinking of the stupid, wretched boy. He couldn't get the bloody git out of his head, no matter how hard he tried; inevitably everything led back to Harry _bloody_ Potter. And then he would shudder and gag when he remembered just how _bloody_ Potter had been. Draco couldn't take it much longer, though. His already tenuous grasp on his sanity was slipping further, and the whole of Slytherin was giving him a wide berth. Even Urquhart hadn't dared do more than glare and sneer. Something had to give, and it certainly wasn't going to be _him._

_Then,_ as if he hadn't been struggling to put Potter from his mind as was, Granger appeared at the common room entrance Sunday afternoon to tell him _Harry_ was awake and accepting visitors! As if he would actually want to see that snotty nosed, do-gooding little prat! And then, she'd gone on to say _Harry_ was asking for _Draco_ specifically. Yes, not Malfoy- _Draco._ Of course, he had not-so-politely declined, what with the entire Slytherin common room watching over his shoulder. However, he hadn't stopped thinking about it since. Maybe even regretting it… a tiny bit. After all, Harry Potter, specifically asking to see _Draco_! He'd thought Hagrid would go _bald _before that day came. At the same time, though, a strange, uncomfortable twinge of.. something… resurfaced at that back of his mind, nagging at him incessantly. Something was just... _wrong._ He sighed, sinking fully-clothed onto his fresh bed linens and burying his face in his pillow. On the one hand, Draco felt like he should go to the hospital so Potter could properly grovel and he could perhaps get in a few snide remarks at the Gryffindor's expense. On the other hand, he was actually sort of curious to see how Potter was healing up and thought that, perhaps, seeing Potter alive and well would help ease his mind a bit and allow him to let go the dreadful images replaying in his mind. But he hated Potter! He shouldn't care either way! But how could he not be disturbed by what he'd seen? Draco clutched his pillow viciously, feet kicking the mattress below him in a silent tantrum. Thus, the mental arguments began again. Needless to say, it was a very exhausted Draco that showed up late for the Potions test first thing Monday morning. He did, however, receive a perfect score on his test.


	5. The Bathroom

A steady stream of late morning sunlight peeked over the stone sill of the open window. It crept slowly across the long expanse of flagstone floor, slithering up the side of the bed where it continued its journey, dipping into the creases and hollows of the blankets. From there, it slowly proceeded to inch up closer and closer to the pillows, casting light on the sleeping figure there. Harry's eyes squeezed tight in protest, a groan escaping from his dry, soar throat as he rolled over and reached for the bed curtains.

In doing so, he made two very important discoveries, the first of which being that there were no bed curtains to pull shut, and the second being that movement of any kind was a very, _very_ bad idea. Harry groaned again, casually throwing an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight. This turned out to be yet another bad idea, as it felt as if his face might have been run over by the Hogwarts Express recently. It took Harry's thought process several awkward minutes to catch up with all of this, but when it did, he seemed to have a vague recollection of waking up in the hospital at some point in the recent past. Yes… he remembered. Ron had been poking him. Hermione had been hissing at Ron to stop. Then he vaguely recalled opening his eyes, which must have caused his friends to assume he was awake, because they had both instantly begun talking furiously. About what, though? He had no idea. Everything else surrounding that was just a big blur. In fact, pretty much everything was a big blur just then, literally and figuratively. Judging by the impressive amount of pain he was in though, and the enormous amount of sunlight steadily blinding him due to lack of bed hangings, Harry concurred he must still be in the hospital. Yes, that made sense. Next, the big question; what on earth was he doing there? Harry very carefully covered his face, groaning into his hands. His head was beginning to throb. He was frustrated, and confused. He had no idea why he was in the hospital. And… he had to go to the bathroom.

Harry tried opening his eyes again, only to be met once more by the very bright sunlight. He attempted asking if anyone was there, but he found out talking above a whisper was yet another thing not to do, as his throat was utterly raw and only a strained hiss came out. He _really_ had to go to the bathroom. Slowly, he inched towards the end of the mattress, reassured by the minimal amount of pain this careful movement caused. Very slowly he began to prop himself up into a sitting position, which turned out to be quite a bit more painful than he'd hope. Harry wasn't one to give up easily though, and, taking a deep breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. As he did this, several things happened simultaneously. First and foremost came the pain; it spiked in sharp bolts through his body the moment his weight transferred from bed to floor, lancing through his legs and torso and making him cry out. Hazily he registered a loud creaking sound reverberating off the walls, disjointedly wondering if it could possibly be the sound of his legs giving out beneath him. Harry realized dazedly that this, too, had been a very bad idea, but then vertigo took over and he began to fall.

Draco pushed the huge, heavy doors open too quickly, inwardly wincing as the groan of the hinges echoed through the entire room. Poking his head inside, his gaze fell on Potter just as the boy stood from his bed and began to topple over. He really hadn't meant to run forward, and even if he _had_ meant to, he certainly hadn't planned on catching Harry Potter. The next thing he knew, though, he was holding Potter in his arms (again), and the dark haired boy was panting heavily against his ear from pain and the heady adrenaline rush that comes with falling over. Long seconds crawled by, and the metallic ticking of a distant clock measured them each with agonizing accuracy. Harry's breathing slowly leveled out, though Draco could tell the other boy was having a difficult time drawing enough air into his lungs.

Gingerly opening the less-swollen eye, Potter squinted up at Draco and the look there, the aching, strangled look of pain and confusion, made Draco literally wince. Draco tried to sneer with disgust, but he had the sneaking suspicion it hadn't come off anywhere near as malicious as he had intended.

As Harry's breathing quieted, another sound entered the mixture; this one started farther off, but was growing increasingly closer and slowly louder. With a start, both boys registered it as the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. Draco panicked. Stumbling to his feet with Potter still in his arms, he practically threw the Gryffindor back onto the bed. The trademark sneer quickly faded, though, as Harry cried out in pain. Draco's hands shot out of their own accord, fluttering frantically to somehow compensate for his admittedly inconsiderate act. He wasn't quite sure what he was planning to do, but it certainly wasn't what he ended up doing. Certainly it had the desired effect of silencing Potter. It seemed to also have the somewhat-desired effect of completely shocking the Gryffindor senseless, and the more-desired-than-he-cared-to-admit effect of actually making Potter feel better. What Draco realized too late was what it was he had actually done to achieve all these effects. In the panic and confusion, Draco had somehow ended up half-ways laying across the bed, his arms actually wrapped around _Potter_ in a _hug_. Potter. Hug. _Potter hug._ The words hit Draco like a cold fish to the face and he recoiled violently, stumbling back to his feet just as Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room.

"What in Merlin's name is going on in here! _You_! Out! No visitors…"

The nurse's voice became increasingly shrill as she drew closer, and Draco fought the urge to cover his ears.

"Harry, _dear_, are you alright?"

She eagerly set about righting the blankets and tucking him back into bed, sending him back to the pillows with a firm hand on his good shoulder when he tried to rise again. Harry opened his mouth to tell her he still really needed to go to the bathroom, but she had already rushed on, glaring at Malfoy. Harry decided his bladder could wait.

"Out out _out_… shoo! Off with you! I don't…"

Harry held up a hand to get her attention, and when it didn't work took a deep breath, mustering up as much of a voice as he could manage. Unfortunately, it wasn't much.

"Madam Pomfrey, please. He didn't do anything. He actually… helped ...me. Um, I was having a nightmare, and… he woke me up…"

Harry trailed off, hand on his rasping throat, hoping his pathetic voice and sad eyes would be enough to sway the strict nurse, hoping the nightmare excuse he'd used to get him some time with Ron and Hermione before would be enough. He hated wasting one of his "free passes" on _Malfoy_- Pomfrey had her limits, and he could tell this was definitely pushing them- but he couldn't pass up the oppurtunity to investigate this incredibly strange situation further.

Madam Pomfrey looked torn. She had tended to Harry plenty of times for injuries induced by the sneering Slytherin in front of her, but Harry looked so innocent, so… lonely. She sighed heavily, hurrying over to draw the curtains of the window the accursed sunlight had penetrated through before hurrying off down the corridor in quietly-muttering defeat.

After Madam Pomfrey left, a blessedly short minute of awkward silence ensued before Harry again swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand up.

"Potter, have you gone completely mad?"

Draco was on his feet in an instant, pushing Harry back onto the bed- although he was markedly gentler this time.

"Bugger off, Malfoy… move. I have…I have to…"

He kept trying to swat Malfoy away, but with no success whatsoever. After a few vain attempts, he let his hands fall heavily to the bed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips and his head drooping in defeat.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Draco took a step back, looking at the humiliated boy before him. This was too priceless: the savior of the wizarding world, unable to go to the bathroom by himself? It was too good, too perfect, too… sad? Yes, sad. Heart wrenching even. Draco felt awkward.

"Do you… umm… want me to go find Madam Pomfrey?"

Even Harry was taken aback by how violent his response was as he glared at Malfoy.

"_No_! I am _not_ some pathetic invalid, I can bloody well go to the damn bathroom on my own, Malfoy…"

He stood, swaying for a moment before falling backwards onto the bed with a hiss. Harry's cheek's were getting brighter, a stark contrast against his shockingly pale skin. Again Harry stood, grasping the bedside table so tightly his knuckles looked as if they might shatter from the sheer force of his grip. Tears were beginning to well up in the bruised green eyes, breaths coming faster, and Draco couldn't seem to do anything but watch. Harry was trembling with effort from head to foot, face tense with concentration as he sunk slowly to the floor, hot, shameful tears streaming down his cheeks. He shook his head slowly, whispering to himself over and over again, "_no...no...no..._"

"P...Potter..."

Draco started to extend a hand, but he pulled it back immediately.

"Just _stuff it_, Malfoy." Harry fairly spat. "I won't give you this! I won't give you the pleasure of seeing me helpless at your feet. I won't sit here and let you laugh your scrawny white arse off…"

He tried again to stand and found he couldn't even get to his knees, sobs nearly choking him as his grip released on the table and his hand dropped to the floor. His shoulders trembled with the suffocating pain weighing down on him, and he refused to look at Malfoy- until a smallish white blur appeared in front of his face. Harry squinted, and with no little surprise realized it was a hand. Draco Malfoy's hand. Harry blinked and squnited, severely doubting his eyes. Both boys had a vague feeling of dejavu, remembering that first time, so long ago it seemed, when Draco Malfoy had extended a hand of friendship to Harry Potter. Harry looked up at last, watery, swollen green eyes meeting nervous grey.

"I…I'm not laughing, Potter."

Harry's sight was none the better, but from what he could tell the look on Draco's strained, flustered face was one of not-quite-hatred. Almost... almost something more. Harry was certain he was imagining it, but it seemed the slight softness in those eyes was... understanding. This time, Harry accepted the offered hand.


	6. The Scar

A short trip to the bathroom just down the hall seemed a simple enough task. With both boys working together, they should have been there and back to Harry's hospital bed in a matter of minutes. However with those boys being Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, this was most certainly not the case. It was, in fact, a full twenty-three minutes later that a flustered Malfoy set a very irate Potter back on the bed, forcefully dislodging the nails embedded in his shoulder. With a huff, he then collapsed into a nearby chair, rubbing his arm where a new bruise was surely forming.

"Honestly, Potter, you're lucky I'm such a kind and generous soul, letting you get away with manhandling me like that when all I was doing was trying to help…"

Draco snorted indignantly, rubbing his head where Potter had pulled his hair.

"_What_?" Harry sputtered, anger rapidly rising. "_You're_ the one who barged in out of nowhere, after _five_ bloody _years_ of making a right _arse_ of yourself given half a chance, and start being… _nice_!"

Harry's voice got higher and higher, and he practically spat the last word at Draco.

"Who do you think you are, charging in like some hero and _carrying me _ to the bathroom when I was perfectly capable of walking!"

Draco leaned forward, lip curling in a sneer.

"More like perfectly capable of falling right on your ugly face, if you ask me."

Harry was unaccustomed to fighting with Malfoy when he was at such an obvious disadvantage- it was incredibly unsettling. He was weak, tired, in pain and wandless, but he glared daggers at the Slytherin for all he was worth.

"Well I _didn't_ ask you, now did I? What the bloody hell are you doing here anyway?"

Draco's jaw dropped in outrage. Of all the lousy, ungrateful, stupid…

"You know sodding well what I'm bloody doing here! Sending your little Mudblood girlfriend to tell me you were asking for me like you're so high and mighty. But I figured I might as well humor you, after all you've been through. Here I actually thought you might want to thank me for saving your pathetic, worthless little life, but I guess Perfect Potter is above gratitude!"

Draco stood, fists trembling with anger and frustration, and heaved a great sigh before turning to leave.

"_Me_? Asking for _you_! You really have gone off your rocker, Malfoy! Save my life? _You_… save _my_ life? And here I thought slimy, worthless, disgusting Death Eaters like yourself only looked out for themselves. You couldn't even save your own damn father from Azkaban- what could _you_ have possibly saved me from?!"

Harry was shaking with a dizzying mixture of rage and pain. He was so furious, so confused, and so drugged out on healing spells and potions that he wasn't really aware of what he'd even been saying until Malfoy spun back around, his thin, pale form seeming suddenly very large as it loomed over the bed, chest heaving and shoulders trembling with barely contained fury. Something in Draco's eyes burned into him like liquid silver pouring onto his skin and seeping into his blood- Harry recoiled sharply, violently, and shrunk back in rising panic. His legs tangled in the blankets as he tried to escape, trapping him further and combining with the sudden onset of dizziness and confusion to make him completely useless. An image flashed through Harry's mind of another looming figure, tall and shrouded in darkness. A wave of fear struck him hard, making him feel sick... he couldn't breathe.. Draco grabbed Harry's wrist firmly, stilling his frantic movements. His own rage was very neatly and tightly contained, his voice shockingly cold after the heated arguments only a moment before.

"Death, Harry. I saved you from death. I found you out on the Quidditch pitch, bleeding all over the place. Did you know you stopped breathing? Did they tell you how your ribs were almost poking out of your skin?"

Judging by the look of absolute horror on Potter's face, Draco wagered he didn't know. A vicious smile split his face- now this was an oppurtunity he couldn't pass up.

"_I _know, _Harry_. I know _everything_ he did to you, and I have to say, Madam Pomfrey is _very_ good at what she does. When I found you, you had a huge gash, just... here..." Draco smoothed a thumb along a fresh pink scar under Harry's eye, stilling his head with a firm hand when he made to pull away. It was strange, at first, touching Potter like this, but it was a small price to pay to see the Gryffindor Golden Boy cowering before him, so utterly powerless. " Broken nose, of course-" he slid his index finger down the other boy's freshly mended nose, delighting in the shudder it caused. "She chose to leave the split lip, I see." Draco traced a thumb along the cut on Harry's trembling lower lip, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. "Makes sense, though. With that much internal damage no use wasting time on the little things. I mean, _four_ broken ribs-" That blurry white hand, kind and compassionate not so long ago, trailed down Harry's throat to stroke feather-light over his chest, purposely ghosting over each individual rib. Harry tried to jerk to the side with all his might, but the Slytherin was relentless. He was, after all, just getting to the best part, and after Potter's earlier outburst this was going to be particularly sweet. "That's not all he did, though. If they didn't tell you about all of that, they certainly didn't tell you this-" Draco leaned in close, lips almost brushing Harry's ear. "He _raped_ you, _Harry_."

He pulled back to gauge the other boy's response and the look in those eyes was overwhelming. Draco didn't think he'd ever seen so much pain and fear on another person's face- certainly not by his doing anyway. He was torn, though; something deep in his gut was screaming at Draco to stop, but he was so drunk on this new power and blinded by the force of his lingering rage that he barely slowed.

"I could have walked away when I found you there, abandoned.. and alone.. after he threw you away. Like rubbish. He left you there to _die_. And _I_ saved your life. _I_ carried you- oh, you bled all over my Quidditch uniform, by the way. But I ran with you up all those stairs and to this very bed, without caring who saw or what they might think. I swallowed my pride to help you. Hell, I risked _everything_!" Draco's voice, initially cold and calculating, was fast becoming frantic but he didn't care- how could Potter just _lay_ there and say things like that when he had risked _his_ own life, his family, his friends, _everything,_ just to save the bloody Gryffindor? Draco was snarling by the time he managed to continue.

"I may be slimy, and worthless, and disgusting, but I am _not_ a Death Eater. No, Harry… I'm your _hero_, and don't you ever… _fucking_… forget it."

Draco threw Harry's hand out of his own with obvious disgust, glaring deep into wide, quivering green eyes and delighting in the shock and terror filling them. He smiled darkly, turning and walking away.

Death? R.._rape_? Harry's entire body was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Memories came flooding back, overwhelming him with sounds and images- mental snapshots in painful clarity and short snips of memory played on loop that made the gaps in his memory seem even scarier. That shadowed figure, so familar and yet so strange. His hands- how they'd hurt and touched and taken things that weren't his to take. Icy hands, so cold, uncaring. The fear, the pain… _the pain_. How he'd ripped Harry's body, taken it, used it, broken it. Harry could feel his hands on him again, like tiny unseen spiders crawling all over him, cold… so cold. But his body felt so hot, feverish even, sweating and trembling like an animal caught in a trap. Harry's breath came faster and faster, his eyes glazing over slightly as he began to hyperventilate, his head spinning with the overload of feeling. He was submerged completely in the memories, trying desperately to claw his way out but only sinking further.

Malfoy was right. Alone, abandoned, thrown away like garbage. That was all he was; filthy, dirty rubbish. He suddenly longed for a bath, a very long, hot bath. Hot enough to burn away the shame burning him up already. The panic was consuming him, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't even try. Rape.. pain… death....

A swirl of memories, churning and bubbling within him, boiling over and burning him alive with guilt and shame. His struggling lungs seemed to have at last given up altogether- he couldn't _breathe_- darkness was consuming him on all sides and he was falling... falling... falling...

As soon as the heavy wooden doors creaked shut behind him, Draco broke into a run. Anger clouded his vision, tinting the entire world red as he barreled down the stairs. In his mind ceiling and floor curved and blended into one and stairs rose and fell, swimming before him. He ran blindly, flying directly into Ron and knocking the youngest Weasley boy over, rushing on, not even slowing to defend himself from the string of insults the redhead threw down the stairs after him. Truth be told, he didn't hear or see any of it. All he saw was the feverish, hateful look in Harry's eyes as he'd called Draco a Death Eater. The obvious disgust in the other boy's voice when he accused Draco of abandoning his own father. The cruel words- the way Harry could just dismiss all the risks Draco had taken, just to save _his_ life.

He ran on, down three surprisingly short flights of stairs- was that all? It had seemed so _far_ with Potter dying in his arms. He shook himself mentally. It was thoughts like that that had gotten him in this predicament in the first place. So, he just kept running, and by the time Harry's high, piercing scream sliced through the halls, he was already too far off to hear it. Even if he had, though, Draco was beyond the point of caring.

Ron and Hermione cared, however. Ron was still dusting off his robes from his fall on the stairs and groping around for the spilled contents of his pockets, colorfully cursing Malfoy under his breath. The image of tested patience, Hermione rolled her eyes and knelt to gather the books Ron had dropped and forgotten in his anger, sighing heavily to herself- _boys_.

Now, Harry Potter's scream was not a sound the two were familiar with. Through their numerous battles with You-Know-Who and his various consorts, they had heard yelling, shouting, and cursing, all in various degrees. They had even seen tears on a few occasions. But a true scream? Never. That is why the sound that echoed down the corridor moments later froze them both in their tracks. Hermione felt as if her heart stopped- the scream, however, did not. It went on and on, ringing in her ears as she sprinted for the hospital, Ron and the books forgotten on the stairs. Ron, meanwhile, could only stand in slack-jawed shock, motionless for long seconds. He stumbled forward numbly, blindly, one stair at a time. What... what was that? It couldn't be Harry. Harry didn't sound like that. Harry never sounded so... so _broken._ The scream broke off abruptly in a pathetic yelp and the sudden silence brought Ron back to his senses. Realizing he was alone and cursing his hesitation Ron tore up the stairs, slowing as he entered the corridor to the hospital wing. The double doors were ever so slightly cracked, and Hermione's face looked terrifying in the filtered light pouring through- all harsh lines and tears and red splotches.

Ron was vaguely aware that a crowd was gathering behind them, but he didn't care, he had to see. Hermione nearly leapt from her skin when he touched her arm, but she quickly through her arms around him, sobbing silently. Rom timidly leaned forward to peer over her shoulder through the crack in the door. It was Dumbledore, and Madam Pomfrey- they were carefully setting Harry back on the hospital bed. Madam Pomfrey seemed quite upset, her hands shaking as she began to re-bandage some of the cuts that had reopened. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be having a fit of some kind. From what Ron could see beyond Dumbledore's hunched shoulders and Madam Pomfrey's rather large hind quarters, Harry was pale as death. His entire body seemed to be shaking uncontrollably and his skin looked sick and chalky, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Dumbledore's hands were blocking Harry's face from view and the old wizard was whispering softly, casting a charm that caused the shaking to cease, and Harry's body became still once more. Ron realized with a jolt that a similar charm had most likely been the end of Harry's screaming as well.

At last Dumbledore turned to the Gryffindors hovering outside the door, patting Madam Pomfrey's shoulder before walking solemnly to meet them. As he moved, Harry's face came into view at last, and Ron very nearly passed out. He bit his cheek as hard as he could to remain silent, tried to keep his shoulders from tensing and his fingers from clenching, but despite his efforts Hermione started to look up. He tried to stop her, tried to hug her tighter and trap her head against his chest, anything... anything to keep her from seeing Harry like this. Harry wouldn't _want_ her to see him like this- but she jerked back and looked anyway. Harry's eyes were rolled up in his head, his mouth hanging open loosely. His face was so white Ron would have thought he was dead had his chest not been heaving so violently, and deep, dark circles ringed his eyes. All of these observations were secondary, though- upon seeing Harry there was only one thing either of them could see. Blood- thick and red and _everywhere_- it was oozing from his forehead, soaking the bandages Madam Pomfrey was attempting to apply before she could even get them secured. Dumbledore was in front of them then, blocking the crack through which they'd been watching and looking at them gravely. He didn't need to say anything. There was nothing he _could_ say. Nothing any of them could say. The scar had reopened.


	7. The Bite

After fleeing the hospital Draco ran all the way to the Slytherin common room, but rather belatedly remembered the last class of the day was still in session. _Damn. _He'd completely forgotten he'd gone to see Potter towards the end of lunch on his way to class. _Damn_. McGonogal was going to murder him. _Damn._ He'd already missed two days that month. Just... _Damn._ Draco's blood was still boiling with pent up rage from his fight with Potter, but the worst part was the _guilt._ Somehow, he actually felt a little _bad_ about being so... blunt. This was ridiculous! A Malfoy _never_ felt remorse, especially not towards those of lower class and intelligence who were just getting exactly what they deserved. It wasn't like he'd lied- it was all true and Potter would have found out eventually anyway. Try as he might, though, he couldn't shake the guilt. It just lingered in the pit of his stomach, eating away at his insides and burning through his already frazzled nerves. He was angry, but felt guilty, and the fact that he felt guilty simply made him angrier.

That was when he decided to run again: he ran up the steps to the owlery then right back down, past the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room and the staircases that led to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Tower, then back towards the Great Hall. As he ran, the twinge of guilt was slowly replaced by a comfortable cramp in his side, and at last the world began to lose its red tinge. His lungs were burning, and his right ankle was twinging, but it felt _good._ His vision, however, remained slightly blurry, as if in a dream; perhaps that was why he didn't see the tall forms standing in front of him until it was too late. He landed hard. Flat on his arse. It was a much harder tumble than he would have thought possible considering it was such a short way down, but the impact was enough to jar him from his trance-like state and he looked around, startled.

"Oi, Draco, alright down there? My mistake, mate, didn't see you coming."

Draco looked up to see Charlie Weasley of all people, who was apparently the tall form he'd run into. The older Weasley extended a hand to help him up and as the fog in his brain cleared Draco noticed several odd things, the first of which certainly being that a _Weasel_ was being _nice _to a _Malfoy. _Initially Draco thought the Weasley was mocking him, calling him "mate," but it seemed the other boy was genuine (or at least attempting to be). It was very strange, and that alone raised Draco's guard. To make matters worse, Charlie was _smirking_-something that, strictly speaking, Weasels did not do. This wasn't the first Weasely smirk he'd received either. Saturday, at their awkward meeting outside the Great Hall- Charlie had smirked at him then too, meaning _two_ smirks in _three_ days. The next odd thing Draco noticed was that the tall person-sharped form he'd noticed standing next to Weasley was none other than Professor Snape, which was somewhat of a relief, seeing as he was currently skipping class. Even this blessing was particularly unerving, though, for his Head of House barely spared him a snarling sidelong glance before turning back to a scrap of parchment in his hands. While all of these things were incredibly odd, none were quite so strange as what Draco noticed next. Accepting the pale, very freckled hand still offered, he noticed the sleeve to Charlie's robes had ridden up a bit, exposing a very vicious looking bite mark on his forearm, just above his wrist. As Draco got to his feet, Charlie followed his gaze to the mark, quickly pulling the sleeve down to cover it, laughing awkwardly.

"Oh, pretty nasty looking, right? Nothing to worry about though. One of the dangers of playing with magical creatures, 'spose. Severus here- I mean, Professor Snape, of course- was just telling me about a potion that should clear it right up. Should be right as rain in no-"

But then Charlie's voice was drowned out, for classroom doors all around them opened and clumps of loud students came pouring into the hallway, pushing and bumping around them. Draco was surrounded almost instantly by a group of Slytherins, all pulling him towards the dungeons. Charlie offered a quick smile, waving as Draco was caught up in the rush and carried off. The blonde could only stare back quizzically.

Draco didn't know much about magical creatures- he had always despised that class, never paid much attention in it and was intensely relieved it was not required for 6th years. However, he knew enough that Charlie's claim raised his suspicions; it had been a horrid bite, to be sure, but it was small and the teeth obviously rather blunt to be a predatory creature- the bite barely broke the skin- and prey creatures rarely attacked unprovoked. The marks were deep, though. Deep enough, in fact, to have left the impression of two perfectly shaped arches, made up of bruises and light scabbing, almost gone but still in the identifiable shape of teeth… teeth that looked suspiciously human.

Initially, Draco had been furious at his housemates for pulling him away before he'd had a chance to call Charlie's bluff, but the more he thought about it, the more he'd realized it was probably a good thing. Just because Charlie had what looked to be a human bite mark on his arm and had been going around smirking didn't necessarily mean he'd been the one to hurt Potter. And even if he was, what did Draco care? It had nothing to do with him. But what about Snape? Why had the two been talking? That potion story had obviously been bollocks, and the way Snape was staring at that paper was unnerving, to say the least. "_Oh, please, don't let that be Dumbledore's request for Snape to brew the Veritaserum. Wouldn't it just be my luck that I'd stumble into him, while cutting class, just as he finds out how rightly I've already buggered everything up?"_ Draco groaned inwardly. And if Charlie _had_ been the one to hurt Potter, what if that's what he was talking to Snape about? What if Snape was _in_ on it. That was ridiculous. Snape wouldn't ever even consider such a disgusting, brutal, terrible thing, no matter how much he loathed every fiber of Potter's being. Sure, yelling and taunting and detention- but not this. Never this. Never.

Right?

Draco's head was spinning by the time they reached the Slytherin common room- not only were the anger and guilt returning, but now he was _confused_ as well. And confusion.. well, confusion meant he _cared_. About what, he had no idea, but he _had_ to care to spend as much time thinking about this as he was. Luckily, by the time he arrived back at Slytherin the eerie stillness of his earlier visit had been shoved back into the corners by the laughter and chatter of his housemates. Pansy and Blaise were seated by the fire, leaning comfortably against each other and talking in hushed voices. Draco couldn't help but smile- both at them and the radius the rest of the house left around them. Pansy spotted him first and fell quiet, offering him a small, warm smile. They wouldn't call him over, he knew. After his outbursts lately and another skipped class they knew to give him space, and he was intensely grateful for it. He didn't move right away, though- he had been intent on taking a long shower and brooding until dinner, and that plan still seemed quiet appealing. But then Pansy shifted on the couch, scooting a little to the left so a space opened between her and Blaise. He smiled as their childhood promises echoed in his mind once more: _no demands, no expectations_. He cautiously approached, offering Blaise an apologetic smile. The other boy gave him a long, appraising look but eventually returned the smile.

"Bloody hell, what a day..."

Draco flopped gratefully into the empty spot between them, leaning into Blaise just as Pansy had been a few moments before. His head clunked lightly against the other boy's bony shoulder, but a little shifting soon fixed that.

"We missed you in Transfiguration today," Pansy edged, waiting for Draco to settle before laying back against his chest. "McGonogal was less than pleased. You do remember you were supposed to present today, don't you?"

"_Damn_.."

He groaned, but threw a casual arm around Pansy's shoulders anyway. There was nothing much he could do about McGonogal right now. He shifted between them again, trying to get comfortable. What was he supposed to present?

"So, Draco- was there anything you wanted to, you know... _talk_ about?"

Pansy glared at Blaise furiously, but it didn't stop Draco from going rigid between them. Blaise grimaced, unable, as usual, to filter before speaking.

"I didn't mean, about.. I just meant..."

"Yes, Blaise, there _is_ something I want to talk about," Draco whispered, glancing surreptitiously around the common room. It had gone suspiciously quiet, but if anything more Slytherins had come in. "But not right now. Or at least, not right here. Right now I just want to... I just..."

Draco huffed in defeat, afraid that if he were to even attempt talking right now anything he tried to say would come out wrong.

"It's okay..." Pansy whispered, low enough that the obvious crowd behind them couldn't hear.

Blaise shifted and they all dipped further to the left, half sitting and half laying across the sofa. _No demands, no expectations._ Draco smiled, feeling the tension of the day fade somewhat and for a short while they talked of trivial things, mostly the fast-approaching Halloween Masquerade Ball, laughing and joking over likely pairings and costume ideas. These were his favorite times, Draco realized warmly; moments just like those they'd shared as children- warm, innocent afternoons spent laughing and playing while their parents planned the next Death Eater raid. Just the three of them, looking out for each other. Just caring, just being together. _No demands, no expectations_.

Eventually, the warmth and lull of conversation drew Draco into sleep, and for a short while he was actually able to forget about Harry Potter.

It was, indeed, a _very_ short while that Draco was able to forget the dark haired boy and all the trouble he'd caused. He had managed a record breaking three hours, though, and was still basking in the wonderful nap he'd had as he, Pansy and Blaise made their way up to the Great Hall for dinner. The meal was well under way by the time they arrived, and the light and laughter trickling out into the gloomy corridor seemed very welcoming to Draco's sleep-fogged brain. Upon entering the Hall, however, his perception rapidly changed; the soft glow he'd noticed outside seemed suddenly like a spotlight glaring down on him, and the laughter broke off first into whispers and hisses, and finally into silence. Everyone was _looking_ at him. He was vaguely aware that Pansy was tugging his hand, but he had frozen on the spot. _What!?_ He wanted to scream. _What? What do you want?_? He had expected this, had run through in his mind over and over how he would play it out. _He_ certainly wouldn't bring it up, but if questioned he had planned to brag a little, throw in a snide remark or two for good measure, and then blow it off. He had figured his family ties, reputation and charm would be enough to evade too much attention, and that the bulk of the school would be too intimidated to even consider glancing his way. Apparently not.

Draco felt his gut clench, fighting the urge to dart out of the Hall and retreat back to the sanctity of his dormitory.

"Draco..."

Blaise urged him forward with a gentle nudge in the back and Pansy tugged him forward by the hand, and somehow they eventually made it to the Slytherin table. Now that he'd returned to his senses Draco felt humiliated- how long had he been _standing_ there? It felt like a lifetime. "_At any rate, too late now,"_ he reassured himself, trying to shake it off. From there it was easy to slip back into his public persona; he shrugged nonchalantly at the Slytherins around him, indicating he had no idea, and pointedly began ignoring anyone and everything not covered in gravy. However, as dinner wore on the façade of indifference became increasingly difficult to keep up. The whispers got louder, erupting when parts two and three of the Goody-Goody Gryffindor Golden Trio waltzed in, their robes billowing behind them in a way that would have made Snape invidious. Neither seemed to have any intention of eating, though, as they proceeded to join the rest of the Hall in the staring contest directed at his pristine blonde head. Under different circumstances, he would have found their pathetic attempts at Death Glares amusing, but paired with the bits and snatches of conversation he could hear circulating around the Slytherin table, he was growing increasingly nervous.

"_Did you hear what happened to Potter_?"

A voice several seats down hissed, sending a wave of murmured questions down the table.

_"What happened?"_

_"Is it true?"_

_"The scar? What about the scar?"_

_"Yes… the scar, what happened?"_

It seemed there were voices on every side, closing in on him, combining with the countless eyes studying him to make Draco feel claustrophobic and panicky.

_"The scar… the scar… is it true?"_

Draco could feel them pressing in closer around him expectantly and he stood, forsaking appearances altogether and turning to flee- only to collide with Professor Dumbledore. The smell of moth balls and lemon drops had never seemed so wonderful.

"Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you would be so kind as to join me in my office? I'd like to have a word with you."

Dumbledore's voice was cold and even, but just then anything was looking better than another moment spent in the Great Hall.

"Yes, of course, Headmaster.."

Draco hoped his voice hadn't sounded as shaky to everyone else as it did to his own ears, but after his grand entrance earlier he doubted it mattered. As he fell into step beside Dumbledore, Draco noticed the Hall had once again fallen still; the Headmaster's heeled boots clicked obscenely in the oppressive silence, and Draco became painfully aware of the muffled "thuds" that were his own dragonhide footseps, a perfect encore of his Saturday morning performance. Eventually they reached the entryway, though, and began their ascent to the gargoyle on the second floor. They were out of sight, but not out of hearing range, when the Great Hall errupted into fervent chatter once more.


	8. The Shock

The ordered chaos of Dumbledore's office hadn't changed much since Draco's last visit, other than the addition of a few candy wrappers. A fire roared in the hearth, and Fawkes fluttered about on his perch a bit before settling down to watch the meeting with great interest, just as the assembled portraits were already doing. Draco felt vaguely uneasy.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Dumbledore motioned to the chair already waiting in front of his desk- apparently this visit, unlike his last, had been planned. Draco sat down, politely declining the bowl of sweets the Headmaster offered next. As the old wizard took his seat as well, Draco absently wondered if it was possible to choke on one's own heart, as his was currently lodging itself in his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

"Now, I understand you were absent from your afternoon classes today, Mr. Malfoy."

Oh, right… that. Maybe this didn't have to do with Potter after all.

"Umm, yes, sir. I'm sorry, I was visiting Potter in the Hospital."

Draco didn't like the knowing gleam in those old blue eyes.

"Yes, so Poppy told me. Did you have a pleasant visit?"

Yes, this definitely had to do with Potter.

"No, sir. We fought. Potter blamed me for my father's incarceration and called me a Death Eater. I… left after that."

It wasn't exactly a lie, Draco assured himself. Dumbledore leaned forward over his desk, his already wrinkled brow creasing further.

"Those are some very serious accusations on Mr. Potter's part. You're telling me, Mr. Malfoy, that you did not seek to retaliate for these personal attacks in any way? You did not, perhaps, _say_ anything to Mr. Potter?"

_Shit_.

"Well… I… I might've mentioned that I thought it was very rude of him to say such things, considering the fact that I'd helped him."

Edited a bit, perhaps, but that was the gist of it. Dumbledore nodded, looking very thoughtful.

"Am I to take it, then, that you spoke to Mr. Potter regarding the specifics of the condition in which you found him?"

Draco nodded hesitantly.

"Hmm. Very interesting. Did anything else happen during your visit, Mr. Malfoy? Did you notice anything… out of the ordinary?"

Draco's brow furrowed. Of all the cryptic conversations...

"Out of the ordinary in what way, Headmaster? This entire situation is rather out of the ordinary."

Dumbledore chuckled rather ironically, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, yes, that it is my boy. I suppose I mean, did he mention any details of the attack himself, or say anything strange? Did he seem to be experiencing pain anywhere in particular?"

For a moment Draco stared at the Headmaster, trying to piece together from those questions what could have happened, trying to work backwards in hopes of choosing a response which _wouldn't_ come back to bite him in the arse.

"Umm... it seemed like he was having a hard time breathing, maybe, or like his chest hurt. He was really... I don't know, he said things that he wouldn't usually have said. We've had plenty of fights, but never... never like that. "Draco cleared his throat, aware and ashamed of his stuttering babble. "But other than that, no. At first it seemed he had no idea what I was talking about, but then I could see him remembering. His eyes got really big... he looked so.. scared. I... I don't know-"

Draco broke off, aware he'd said much more than he'd intended but incapable of stopping himself. He viciously bit the side of his tongue out of habit, the pain a reminder of the need for silence. If Dumbledore noticed, he did not comment.

"During your visit with Mr. Potter, did you at any time become physically violent?"

Draco's outrage was clear, but the throbbing of his tongue brought the encounter back into perspective. He paused a moment.

"No, sir, not particularly. He fell out of bed once on his own, and then we had a minor scuffle when I assisted him in reaching the washroom. When I left the Hospital his physical condition was no different than it was when I arrived."

Dumbledore nodded slowly through Draco's response, staring vacantly in the direction of a large gilded bookcase.

"Very well. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I greatly appreciate your honesty and cooperation." Draco recognized a dismissal when he was given one and thankfully scrambled to his feet.

"However-"

Draco inwardly groaned, but slowly lowered himself back into the chair.

"As I am sure you noticed, the events of the past few days have not remained as silent as we would have hoped. There are many stories floating about right now- few of which are true and most of which are less than gracious regarding your participation."

"_Bit of an understatement," _Draco thought bitterly. His jaw tightened as Dumbledore spoke, and he found himself scrubbing his injured tongue along the ridges of his clenched teeth, just for good measure.

"I would like to assure you, though, Mr. Malfoy, that I have, to the best of my ability, remained true to my word. Despite the impressive display of gander and gossip we witnessed this evening, no news regarding the events of the past few days has left the school; this will continue to be the case until we are prepared to make a formal statement. As you requested I have solicited Severus' services for the brewing and administration of the Veritaserum potion; he has agreed, though rather begrudgingly. I believe he fears his involvement may merely throw more suspicion on you, but I believe you've already considered that possibility at length."

Draco was taken aback by the knowing look in the Headmaster's eye, but eventually nodded.

"The necessary ingredients for the potion should be arriving in the next few days, but I'm afraid the brewing can take up to one full moon cycle, depending on the freshness and quality of the ingredients, as well as the skill of the brewer. Severus has estimated somewhere between two and three weeks for the potion's completion, but we will have to designate a Ministry approved witness as well, should the need for legal documentation of your statement ever arise. Until then, I must reiterate the need for secrecy: while conjecture runs rampant and some true details of Mr. Potter's condition have made themselves public knowledge, the severity of the situation has thankfully remained undiscovered thus far."

Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"Of course, sir."

"Very good, very good. Now, it would probably be best you ran along back to your dormitory. After much persuasion I have managed to convince Minerva to forgive your absence this afternoon. However, she was quite adamant you present tomorrow, and if you're as dutiful a student as I was you'll still be needing to figure out exactly _what_ you're supposed to be presenting."

Draco couldn't help but smile a little at the unexpected show of support- usually such favors were reserved for the Gryffindors.

"Thank you, sir."

Draco got to his feet uncertainly, nodded again, and began to shuffle towards the door. The familiar scratching of quill on parchment began almost immediately, a clear sign his presence had already been dismissed, but there was a question burning in his mind, itching to be voiced- a curiosity that had been eating at Draco since dinner. Pausing at the door, he turned to face Dumbledore, who was, as Draco had thought, quickly writing something down on a roll of parchment.

"Umm… Headmaster, sir?"

The quill stopped and Dumbledore looked up at him.

"Sir, I was wondering... at dinner tonight, I heard other students at the table talking. Something about Potter, and then they all looked at me, as if I should know. It was something about Potter and.. and his scar."

The kind blue eyes darkened, Dumbledore's face hardening into an unreadable expression that made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.

"The students know that as well, then."

Dumbledore's voice was hard and strained, but his eyes were glistening with exhaustion.

"Mr. Malfoy, only a few moments after Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger spotted you running down the stairs from the Hospital Wing, Harry was discovered unconscious, and in shock."

"And.. the scar?"

Fawkes gave a sudden trill so loud it made them both jump, Draco's heart hammering in his chest so violently he feared it might explode.

"Reopened."

Draco barely heard the whispered response over his own pulse pounding in his ears.

_Reopened_? But how could it be? The scar was something like 16 years old; scars like that didn't just go reopening! Did they? But then, most scars weren't shaped like a lightning bolt, or hurt when evil was nearby. And of course, _most_ scars weren't caused by a killing curse from You-Know-Who, either.

Draco shivered all over, his head feeling light and slightly dizzy as his brain tried to digest this information. The small, comfortable office seemed suddenly claustrophobic.

"I..I see. Thank you, Professor."

He nodded politely, turning and walking the final steps to the door. He turned the knob, pushed it open and let the spiraling staircase wind its way back down. He blindly stepped down, not even bothering to check he was alone before he set off at a run once more.

~*~

Draco sat on a large boulder beside the lake looking up at the sky. The moon was huge and yellow, peeking out between ever-growing mountains of threatening black clouds, reflecting off the choppy water in dizzying patterns. A strong, cold wind was picking up, and Draco pulled his cloak tighter around himself. He sighed.

_"Scars don't just reopen for no reason." _He thought darkly._ "There's always a cause. Usually straining the wound, or hurting it again. But the 'wound' that caused the scar had been a murder attempt by You-Know-Who almost 16 years ago. How do you strain something like _that_ again? _

A dark, shadow of a response drifted in the back of his mind, and Draco pushed it sharply away, feeling an icy chill race down his spine.

_Alright, new theory. Maybe, whoever hurt Harry… err… Potter… maybe they hit the scar, and that's why it reopened? _

Wait.. that was it. Potter was beaten up so bad, maybe it wasn't the scar that had reopened at all. Maybe there was a cut on his forehead that somehow started to bleed again, and they'd all been too taken aback to notice?

Yes, that must be it. Er, _stupid_ _Potter_, always begging attention and throwing fits and now he was getting Draco caught up in the mess. But _he_ would show them- _he _would expose Potter's theatrics once and for all. And, best of all, casting doubt on the idiotic Gryffindor would cast doubt on the whole story, including his own involvement. If he could just make them see that Potter was lying about this, then maybe they would be less inclined to believe that _he_, Draco _Malfoy_, had helped Harry _Potter_- after all, a 16 year old curse scar reopening was much more believable than a compassionate Malfoy. Draco smiled to himself triumphantly, a thrill of exhilaration filling him as he stood atop the rock. Laughing to himself, he jumped down, brushing off his robes and walking purposefully back towards the castle. Draco knew it was all just a trick, and he was going to prove it.

~*~

By the time Draco reached the Hospital it was well past curfew, and already most of the lights in the castle were out. Outside, the wind had gained speed, whipping and howling at the windows and carrying in more dark clouds until they completely blocked out the moon. As a result, Draco found himself inching carefully through the pitch black halls, favoring the darkness over the attention his glowing wand would draw. Ahead of him stood the huge wooden doors to the Hospital, impossibly dark against their pitch surroundings. Very carefully, he pressed the door open a crack, slipping inside and looking around. The long room full of beds was empty, save for one at the very end surrounded by a green cloth screen. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, and Draco was immensely glad. Visiting hours were most certainly long past, and if she'd been rude to him before, he could only imagine her reaction to seeing him now.

The shrieking wind drew Draco's attention to the window, and he was startled to see the sky twisting into roiling purple chaos, shockingly vivid despite the darkness and the late hour. The strange clouds outside cast an eerie light in the room, but Draco pressed forward. His heart hammered in his chest, fluttering and beating against his ribs like an owl in a cage. As he drew closer, he caught a glimpse of the still form through a gap in the screen, his anxiety melting away into anticipation. Gleaming silver eyes narrowed with excitement, a truly wicked smirk contorting his face. He'd waited for this moment for so long- a chance to prove Potter was no more than an attention starved, whiny little prat, not the blossoming idol that everyone painted him to be. He laughed to himself as he imagined the faces of all of Potter's little fan club when they found out the truth. Draco would be a hero in Slytherin and best of all, his allegiances could remain where they had lain all along- at the heart of his own best interest. Pushing past the screen, he approached the bed on silent feet. Slowly he peeled back the covers, grasping Potter's shoulder and turning him so Draco could see his face, his own already glowing with triumph.

Instantly, the glow faded, all color draining from the Slytherin's already pale features. His silver eyes grew steadily to the size of dinner plates and he stumbled back. The flash of lightning from the window that had momentarily lit Harry's face died away, but the vision of the absolute white of his pale, lifeless face and the angry, pulsing scar, still slowly leaking red, burned into Draco's mind, refusing to fade. If the earth shattering roar of thunder had followed even a moment later, the entire school would have likely woken to the sound of Draco Malfoy screaming like a girl.

Covering his mouth with his hands, he tore his eyes away from Potter. Creeping quietly to the screen, he peeked out to look up and down the long room, waiting for someone to burst in. Several tense minutes passed, and to his relief no one came barging in to check on Potter. In fact, to his great relief, it seemed no one had heard the scream, until he turned around to find large, vacant green eyes boring into him. Draco very nearly screamed again.

"P…P….Potter?"

The boy on the bed blinked, but said nothing, the huge green pools glazing over with tears. Draco took a step forward, but Potter began to tremble and he stopped.

"It's okay… I.. I won't come any closer, I promise."

Harry gripped the blanket tighter, jumping when another flash of lightning lit the room. In the momentary flash of light, Draco could see his face was streaked with blood and tears. Draco's stomach twisted with nausea. _More_ blood? Draco didn't think he could handle much more. There was a low, pitiful whimper from the bed.

"Umm… Potter, I'm… I'm sorry, I guess. For… what I said earlier. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just…. You had no right to say what you did about me, or my family. I am _not_ a Death Eater, and my father is no business of yours…."

His voice slowly grew from a whisper to a hoarse growl, his fists balling up at his sides as he remembered how Potter had accused him of the unthinkable- failing his own father. As if he had any right to talk! It was all Potter's fault his father had been locked up, not _his._ Anger began to bloom bright and deadly in his chest.

"You've got no right at all, Potter! Blaming me for these things, when it's all your fault my father's in Azkaban! It's all your fault your own parents are…"

He looked up to see the huge, green eyes grow even larger, a steady trickle of blood streaming down his forehead.

"I'm sorry…"

He whispered, covering his mouth upon realizing what he'd been about to say. He reached forward to wipe the trickle of blood straying dangerously close to Harry's eye, but the dark haired boy cried out, shrinking away from the touch. Down the hall somewhere there was the sound of a book tumbling to the floor and a chair being pushed back. He panicked, turning to run, but Harry had reached out and his sweaty fingers were tangling in Draco's cloak, tugging insistently. The Slytherin whirled to look at him. A door down the hallway opened.

"Harry, I have to go, if she finds me here, she'll kill me!"

He hissed, trying to disentangle the other boy's weak grasp.

"Please, don't go Malfoy…"

The steps were getting louder now.

"Tomorrow, I'll come and visit, I promise."

He pried the shaking, clammy hand free and held it for a moment before letting it go and hurrying past the screens.

"I promise, I'll come and visit you tomorrow."

Harry nodded and Draco disappeared past the screens. A moment later, there was a muted creak as the door opened and he slipped out. When Madam Pomfrey arrived at his bedside shortly after, she found Harry smiling blankly at his hand.


	9. The Raspberry

_It started with the hands, cold and snaking along his skin, the blunt scrape of nails making him shiver, making his stomach lurch. Down his chest, his arms, his back. Cold, always so cold. A slap to the face sent him stumbling to the side, tripping on himself and sprawling to the ground. A shadow was growing behind him, above him, until it consumed all traces of light and began to close in around him. Unseen fingers crawled along Harry's shoulders like spiders, twining gracefully around his throat and tightening slowly but relentlessly. He clawed at the hands, but it was like they were made from finished marble- stone hard and slippery smooth. Harry's lungs burned, light dancing behind his wide, sightless eyes and hands falling limply to his sides. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't scream…._

Harry woke with a start, eyes flying wide and hands clawing at his neck as he bolted up in bed, only to fall back at once, doubled over in pain. A strangled cry forced its way out of his dry, swollen throat, but the air burning his lungs was a welcome discomfort. Sweat dripped from Harry's forehead and he trembled all over, eyes darting around frantically as he returned to himself. The screen Madam Pomfrey had put up the night before was gone, but without his glasses everything was a blur of vague shapes and colors. Harry could make out the forms of the empty beds lining the walls, the roaring fireplace in the corner, the dark arch of the doorway. The room was silent except for the soft pitter patter of rain on the window and the crackling from the fire. He realized, with a strange mix of emotions, that he was alone. The initial panic rising in Harry's stomach died away, and he was suddenly very grateful no one was there to witness his pathetic state. '_Some savior you are_…' He whispered bitterly to himself and with a deep, shuddering breath, he collapsed back against the mattress.

The adrenaline drained away quickly and left Harry feeling empty and slightly sick, his entire body slack with exhaustion. His head felt strange and slightly dizzy, and he fumbled clumsily for his glasses, but could find them nowhere amongst the tangle of sweaty blankets cocooning him. Rolling over onto his side he groped blindly about on the table beside his bed, his already trembling hand jerking suddenly as a deep creaking groan reverberated down the hall. Harry yelped as the sudden movement sent a large glass pitcher of cold water toppling over, its contents splashing over him before it tumbled to the floor and shattered.

"Bloody fucking hell…"

Harry hissed, his face twisting as he reached blearily towards the pile of broken glass, only to gasp and pull back sharply as a pale hand encircled his wrist. He looked up in shock to see Malfoy standing before him, his other hand extending a blurry object towards Harry, which he recognized immediately. Accepting the offered glasses, he slipped them on and stared up at the smirking blonde.

"Tisk tisk, Potter… wouldn't have signed up for the hero business if I knew it was going to be a full time job."

He smiled at Harry, an act that was clearly meant to be either ironic or sarcastic, but the distinct furrow of his perfectly arched brows contradicted the harsh comment and softened the usually harsh features. The smile, or whatever it had been, faded quickly though, replaced by a slight sneer that instantly fell into a frown.

"Potter, you're all wet. And you're shivering."

And, to Harry's utter embarrassment, this was true. The icy water had saturated the thick blankets and soaked through his pajamas, leaving him cold all over, though some of the trembling was leftover from his nightmare only a few minutes before. Harry winced as the sick crunch of glass beneath Draco's feet drew his attention to just how close the other boy was getting to the bed. Draco released an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes.

"Potter, relax. Honestly, you think you can clean this up yourself? It's not as if I'm planning on molesting you. For Merlin's sake.."

Grabbing hold of the mound of wet blankets, Draco tossed them aside. He leaned closer to help the Gryffindor sit up, but froze at the sight that met his eyes. He realized "molest" had probably been a poor word to choose, given the situation, but watching Harry try to curl in on himself made him feel as if that were exactly what he was doing. And, to his utter mortification, it suddenly didn't seem like such a horrible idea.

When Draco hadn't moved or made any further comment Harry had slowly uncurled himself, looking up through messy bangs with big, dark, inquisitive eyes. Whether from lingering illness or embarassment (or perhaps the pitcher-worth of cold water soaking him through), Harry was flushed pink. The blossom of color danced along his high, smooth cheekbones and into the tiny hollows of Harry's cheeks before spilling leisurely down his throat like warm water. From there it spread obscenely down his lightly heaving chest before disappearing under the near-transparent white shirt. Harry's cheeks weren't the only thing pink, though; his lips, parted slightly around tiny panting breaths, looked rather dry and chapped- that was the only reason Draco could come up with as to why they were so... _rosy._ And then Harry sucked that lower lip into his mouth, and Draco nearly choked.

His eyes shot quickly back to meet Harry's and he coughed a little, taken aback _again _by those damned eyes.

"Uh… you've healed up pretty well so far, looks like…"

Harry looked away and nodded, and Draco took a very deep breath before cautiously leaning forward, gently helping move the other boy to a sitting position so he could rest against the headboard. Harry was short of breath just from the simple movement, and Draco felt equally angry (at himself) and ashamed that he had been staring so blatantly when the other boy was obviously in a great deal of pain.

"I'll go get some clean linens. Just stay here, and don't do anything stupid, Potter. As hard as that may be for you."

Reaching over to the next bed, Draco grabbed the top blanket and thrust it at Harry before hurriedly shuffling down the hall to the storage room. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it, his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears. He let his head fall back with a dull thud.

"_Slow, deep breaths… slow deep breaths…_"

He whispered slowly to himself, raking a hand through his pristine blonde hair. Why had he _stared_ at Potter like that? Why hadn't he been able to look away? On the one hand, it made him feel physically ill to see Potter looking so frail and helpless, despite his utter loathing for the other boy. Potter was _supposed_ to save them all, he was _supposed_ to be brave and noble and good, no matter how annoying it was and how much it made Draco hate him. It was just how Potter was. But on the other hand, seeing Potter like that, _blushing_ up at him with big dark eyes and parted lips- he had looked almost... pretty. '_Bloody hell," _he banged his head against the door in self-loathing. '_As if the fact that it's _Potter_ isn't bad enough, he's such a prat__! He called me a Death Eater, blamed _me_ for failing my father! And, well, I guess he he _did_ almost _die_ four days ago. But I was.. Was I really just-'_

"…Malfoy?"

Potter's weak, shaky voice broke through Draco's self-depreciating inner monologue and he turned, pushing his dilemma aside for the time being. He hurriedly grabbed a pair of pajamas and an armful of fresh bed linens before hurrying back to Potter's bed.

"What took you so long, Malfoy?"

The Gryffindor's voice was slightly suspicious, and Draco shrugged.

"Just trying to find some pajamas that wouldn't slide off your malnourished arse, Potter."

He sneered, drawing back the blankets again and training his eyes steadily on the buttons of the shirt, refusing to let them wander even an inch. Harry tried to swat him away, but they both knew his hands were trembling too badly to work the tiny buttons. Neither of them mentioned anything of it, though. Tossing the wet cloth aside, Draco nearly flinched at the sight that met him. Most of the cuts and bruises were completely healed, and the broken ribs seemed (thankfully) to be fully set by now. Unfortunately, though, this left nothing to distract Draco from exactly how small Potter had really gotten. He was skinny… beyond skinny really, leaning more towards anorexic. Definitely malnourished. His skin was so pale it was virtually translucent, and Draco could clearly make out the thin map of veins trailing up Harry's inner arm.

"Merlin, Potter! Don't you _ever_ eat?"

Harry froze, stomach churning. He had heard that before. Who had said that to him? He couldn't remember, and the additional reminder of his weakness put him instantly on edge. He scowled, snatching the towel Draco offered.

"None of your business, Malfoy…" He spat, swiping at his chest and stomach with the towel before pulling on the shirt Malfoy held out, which was at least three sizes too large for him. Draco merely watched, half sickened and half amused.

"Umm, Malfoy… would you… umm…. Turn around? I have to change my pants, and I'd rather not with you watching."

Draco laughed.

"Why Potter, shy, are we? Don't worry, I won't tell your fan club about your less-than-heroic physique…"

The tone was light though, and he turned without further prodding. Harry merely snorted. It took him a little longer to change than Draco had anticipated, though, and when a full minute had gone by without a sound he finally gave in to curiosity and peeked over his shoulder. Harry was sitting on the far corner of the bed with his back facing Draco- he appeared to be having some difficulties leaning forward enough to properly pull up his pants, let alone the pajama trousers still folded beside him, and in his effort the collar of the enormous shirt had slipped down off of one shoulder. Feeling awkward, Draco started to look away but stopped when something caught his eye. Harry's skin was so white it practically made the linens look dingy and by then most of the external damage had faded to light pinks and yellows and greens- in contrast, the concentrated patch of bruising and scabbing along the back of his neck looked painfully fresh, and it was giving him an unnerving sense of dejavu. By then Harry had finally conquered the pants, though, and was making much quicker work of the pajamas, so Draco had to trade his blatant scrutinizing for suspicious contemplation as he turned his back to the other boy once more. It seemed strange to him that Madam Pomfrey would heal everything except for such a significant patch of cuts and bruises. It looked... painful. How did he even get markings like that? Draco's brow furrowed. This was very strange. He would have to try to get a better look later.

"Alright… I'm done."

Draco turned, mouth already open to offer witty reply- only to be hit in the face with a pair of cold, wet pants. Shrieking with horror he batted them away, running to the nearby sink and scrubbing his face with warm, soapy water and making disgusted noises all the while. By the time he turned back, Harry was in hysterics, clutching his non-stomach in a vain effort to control his laughter. Upon seeing Draco's face, pink and splotchy and still slightly soapy, Harry burst into yet another uncontrollable fit of giggles.

"Think that's funny, Potter?"

The old malice was quickly returning, Draco's anger flaring at being laughed at, yet again, by the most annoying person he'd ever had the displeasure of knowing.

Harry nodded weakly, still shaking with laughter, tears of merriment in his eyes. Draco pounced. He jumped onto the bed so fast Harry had barely seen him move, jarring the injured boy sharply and pinning him down, laughing at Harry's terrified whimper.

"Not so funny now, is it, Potter? All fun and games, until it's your turn."

He sneered, his voice nearly a growl.

"Malfoy, I... I didn't mean...I just.. "

Draco smirked triumphantly, reaching down to draw up Harry's too-big shirt, leaning forward slowly…slowly… licking his lips. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this.

"Come on, Potter, time to take it like a man."

Harry whimpered with real fear, struggling and straining to break free as he began to panic in earnest. Draco paid the other boy's pathetic pleading no mind though- instead he bent down…

And blew a huge raspberry on Harry's stomach.

Harry cried out, thrashing as Malfoy's unconventional, completely unexpected attack drew an uncontrollable bout of shrieks and laughter.

"No! N…No, Malfoy… stop…" More insane, painful giggles. "Please stop.. oh please…. Oh… ow! Owww, Malfoy that hurts, owww…."

Draco pulled back immediately, looking down at the thrashing, dark haired boy.

"Potter? Are you… are you alright?"

Harry gazed up, panting and bewildered. Not only had Malfoy just given up a chance to pommel him in favor of tickling, but the Slytherin actually looked concerned that he might have hurt Harry.

"Y…yeah. It's just… I'm really sore still. Pomfrey say's I've got a lot of internal... stuff. So just… be careful."

Draco grimaced, moving to sit on the side of them bed.

"Oh… sorry."

Harry couldn't stop a slightly bewildered smile from breaking out on his face.

"Don't worry about it, Malfoy. Just be careful next time you decide to exact your terrifying revenge. Wouldn't want to have anymore daring rescues on your part."

Draco smiled; a soft, genuine curl of full, pale lips, accompanied by a gentle chuckle that escaped before he could stifle it. Harry was stunned. He had never before seen Draco smile like that, never seen him so calm and relaxed and, well, normal. It was beautiful.


	10. The Man in White

Draco could not recall a week that had ever gone by as quickly as that past one. He had visited Potter in the hospital nearly every day, sitting at his bedside for at least an hour on each occasion. Initially he had been cautious, anxious about running into the Weasel or the Mudblood. He listened at the door for a moment each time, peering through a crack to ensure Potter didn't have "guests" before he would enter. He soon realized, though, both from the lack of confrontations and Potter's constantly lonely demeanor, that his side kicks had not been visiting often, if at all. It gave Draco an overwhelming sense of satisfaction knowing that he was replacing parts two and three of the Golden Trio, no matter how temporary it might have been. In fact, he would have personally loved nothing more than to rub it in the Weasel's ugly, freckled face that Harry apparently, for the moment at least, considered Draco a satisfactory substitute for his best mate. However, he knew such a boast would only lead to the annoying Gryffindors visiting Harry constantly, and Draco had somehow come to rather enjoy the long, aimless talks he shared with the dark haired boy and was not willing to give them up just to wound some Gryffindor pride.

In fact, Draco was beginning to feel he wouldn't willingly give up his afternoons with the Potter at all. Of course, it was only temporary, only until Potter was out of the hospital and back to his annoying self. This decently intelligent, surprisingly funny, disturbingly timid version of Potter was just a fluke, he knew, likely a result of one too many blows to the head. And yet, (completely against his will, he mentally reiterated), all week he had found himself anticipating his time with Potter, drifting off in thought during classes. He even managed to cause a small explosion in Potions and have five house points begrudgingly taken by Snape. The worst thing, though, had been the Quidditch match the previous day against Hufflepuff. Of course Slytherin had trounced them thoroughly: Draco had tracked down and captured the Snitch within five minutes. It just wasn't the same, though. The Hufflepuff seeker had been a useless twit, unable to even exchange some light banter or give a good chase. The whole match was total pants, in fact, and the entire time he'd found himself wishing fervently it had been Potter at his side racing, soaring, and diving madly in pursuit of the fluttering golden ball. Flying side by side with Potter like that gave him a rush, made Quidditch worth playing. Even if Potter did always ended up unfairly besting him.

It was already Sunday, though, and Halloween at that, hard as it was to believe, and the Hogwarts Masquerade Ball was in less than an hour. Thus, Draco found himself standing petulantly before the full length mirror in his room, hurriedly slicking back his hair and finally taking the time to properly conceal the dark circles under his eyes and the permanent crease down his forehead that had been developing since summer. He wore black- it was all he could convince himself to throw on, and he thought it rather fitting, considering he'd rather be attending a funeral. Despite all of Blaise and Pansy's excited planning Draco despised dances, hated social gatherings, and could think of an extensive list of things he'd rather be doing that evening. However, "legal adult" as Draco was at Hogwarts and "incarcerated" as his father was in Azkaban, as a Malfoy there were certain duties and responsibilities he simply could not weasel his way out of. "_Ha, fitting term_," he mused. However, pureblood duty being what it was Draco would be escorting Pansy for the evening, despite her quiet displeasure and his own distinct desire to simply be alone for the evening. But Draco did not try to delude himself; he knew the importance of bloodlines and producing a suitable heir in order to carry on the Malfoy name, and thankfully his father had never made any attempts to betroth him as a child. Pansy's father had been the one trying to nudge them together in recent years, and the fact that Pansy's parents were primary financial supporters for Voldemort's cause certainly hadn't hurt his own father's opinion of the match. As much as Draco valued her friendship, though, and certainly enjoyed her company, to be quite honest he would rather kiss a flobberworm. The thought of kissing either made him shudder as he secured a green and silver embroidered mask around his face, carefully avoiding mussing his perfectly slicked hair. He sighed bitterly as he looked at his reflection, longing for nothing more than to tear off the stupid mask and lob it at whoever inevitably came to collect him should he dawdle much longer.

As his dark mood clouded over further, Draco couldn't help his thoughts drifting back to his visit with Potter that afternoon. At the time he hadn't thought much of it, but Potter had been quiet, withdrawn. Something had obviously been troubling him, but Draco had been so absorbed by his own sour thoughts that he hadn't thought much of it at the time. Had he been sad about missing the Halloween celebrations, or had it been something else? Draco frowned, absentmindedly twisting and smoothing his hair until the mirror, slightly annoyed by his primping, reprimanded him in a high, shrill voice.

"Honestly, love. If you keep that up, you're going to pull it right out!"

The mirror's loud laughter made Draco's ears ring, and he glared angrily at it before storming down to the common room. A strange sense of foreboding was beginning to bubble in the pit of Draco's stomach, but he quickly pushed it away and joined his fellow masked Slytherins in the common room, assuring himself that no matter how badly he was dreading this it wasn't worthy of the bone-deep uneasiness creeping up on him.

~*~

Draco loved Pansy to death, he really did, but she proved to be decorated as gaudily as the Great Hall itself and he spent much of the evening nearly gagging on her overpoweringly sweet perfume. Her dress, too tight; her make-up, too much; her smile; too fake. Best friend or not, he had to suppress a shudder as he led her to the refreshment table to get some punch, hoping fervently that the fruity liquid had been laced with something very potent. An hour and five glasses later, it appeared it hadn't. Within the first hour of their arrival Draco had exhausted the list of activities deemed necessary of any proper pure blooded young man: he'd danced with Pansy, whose mood seemed as sour as his own, and then politely asked each female staff member for a dance as well. He'd then tormented the Gryffindors, danced with Pansy again, teased the Ravenclaws, danced with Pansy… again, and taunted the Hufflepuffs before dancing with Pansy, sadly, again. He had not the slightest clue who Vincent Davies was, nor did he wish to, but if Pansy mentioned him and his lovely blue eyes one more time he thought he might puke. His obligations filled and his sanity waning, Draco had been trying to devise a believable excuse for leaving so early. That was when he saw it: a spalsh of red above the crowd.

His curiosity piqued, Draco watched as a tall, red haired man wearing white wove his way through the mass of people filling the Great Hall. Charlie. He was sure of it, though the man's face was hidden behind a white mask embroidered with gold.

"I have to go, Pansy. I'll see you later…"

He pushed past her, missing the look of utter relief on her face as he cut across the dance floor, bumping annoyed couples out of his way. He reached the other side in time to see the man in white leaving through a door not far from where the staff table would usually be.

Draco felt the sense of dread that had been eating at him all night tighten and constrict into a heady ball of fear as he raced to follow. He abandoned his shoes immediately because of the loud clicking sounds the polished heels made against the stone floor, and his sock clad feet were freezing as he winced his way towards the uneven flagstone steps usually used by teachers on their way to the staff room. He'd lost the man in white almost immediately, rounding the first corner to find him nowhere in sight. However, he gingerly climbed the long, imposing flight of stairs up to the first floor, just to be sure. Empty. Empty, dark and silent. Draco sighed. He briefly considered hunting in earnest, but doubted the endeavor would be worth it- even if the masked man was Charlie, he doubted anything of interest was going to happen with nearly the entire school down in the Great Hall. That was when he'd heard a loud pop somewhere on the next floor up, almost immediately followed by another. It was a sound Draco had heard many times growing up, but one which he had never before heard at Hogwarts- was never _supposed_ to hear at Hogwarts. Draco sprinted through several narrow corridors until he reached the main staircase, his sock clad fleet scrambling for purchase on the smooth marble as he ran up the next flight of stairs. He reached the top just in time to hear another pop, once again one floor up. To his utter annoyance the staircase he needed to take up to the third floor was being rather slow to return, but while he waited he listened- nothing. No second pop. He looked up and saw that thankfully both of the third floor staircases were currently detached. Whoever it was, they were still there. Bloody hell, that staircase was taking _forever_. And anyway, what on earth was there on the third floor that could be so-

"_Oh Merlin... the hospital… Harry…"_

Draco froze. Why hadn't it occurred to him before? Everyone was at the Masquerade Ball downstairs; he himself had asked Pomfrey for a dance. Harry was alone, unguarded, completely vulnerable. The staircase was still a few feet away when Draco leapt for it, grabbing the banister and using it to steady himself as the stairs beneath him reconnected with a deep resounding 'thud'. He took the remaining steps two at a time, sprinting into the open corridor and slamming to a dead halt. There was the man in white, peering through the same crack in the double doors that Draco had looked through all week to check for Gryffindor visitors. He was just standing there, back to Draco, watching through the tiny hole. Watching _Harry._ For a second Draco was too winded and taken aback by the strange scene he'd stumbled into to do anything other than stare, but he quickly managed to find his voice.

"Stop… right there…"

He panted breathlessly, drawing his wand. There was a long pause. Draco's heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it seemed deafening in the silent corridor, his fingers clammy where they tightened around his wand.

"Stop right here or what, Draco?"

The voice was deep, yet hollow sounding all at once, grainy and slightly shrill and it made the hairs along Draco's neck stand on end and quiver. The red haired man turned to face him, and Draco nearly gasped aloud. The white and gold mask hid the man's entire face except for his eyes and mouth; the afore mentioned being a deep, bottomless black, and the latter pale and smirking. The hair, though, was unmistakable: a Weasley. It had to be.

The next moment happened so quickly, it left Draco's head spinning. As the man in white drew his wand Draco flung his own out in front of himself like a sword, pointing it at the man as he yelled "_Expelliarmus!_" Draco felt the tingle of power itch at his inner arm as the spell shot forward, but there was another loud "pop" and the man was gone. Instead the spell hit the old oak doors of the hospital and bounced back at him; Draco dove out of the way but the loose spell caught his shoulder, ripping through his cloak, shirt and several layers of skin before sending him sprawling to the floor. When on earth had his balance gotten so bloody awful?

Looking around frantically, Draco tried to see where the man had gone, but it seemed he had completely vanished. He was alone. A cry from within the hospital had Draco on his feet instantly, throwing open the heavy doors and pushing the flimsy green screen around Harry aside. Draco looked around, but there was no sign of the man in white there, either. Only Harry, tangled and sweaty in the sheets, his scar burning and pulsing as a single pale tear trekked down his flushed cheek. Draco felt as if his lungs had been deflated.


	11. The Nightmares

_A cold, freckled hand fastened around his throat, gripping tight, and Harry tried to scream but found he couldn't. The hand squeezed tighter, holding him in place and cutting off his intake of oxygen while the other came up to cuff him hard in the temple. Flashes of color danced behind his eyes and then the hands let go, letting him drop limply to the cold ground. Harry gasped for breath, clutching weakly at his throat and looking around in wide eyed panic. He could hear laughter- shrill, hollow laughter echoing everywhere, but it was dark all around, save the small patch of light in which he sat. He was cold and terrified, trying to get to his feet, but he found his knees shaking so terribly he fell right back down._

"_Now, now, Harry. Calm down. What's a friendly chat between mates?"_

_A figure stepped from the darkness, and though Harry could not see his face the dim light reflected off his perfectly white shoes and trousers, so pristine they practically glowed against the shadows behind them. Harry opened his mouth to speak. He was confused and disoriented, apprehension and adrenaline rising quick in his blood. Something in him was screaming to run. To fight. To bite and scratch and kick, anything to just get _away_. But it looked as if the man in white was reaching out to help him up- a kind, welcoming hand for Harry to take. Then there was a sickening crack, and Harry was vaguely aware his mouth was flooded with a warm, thick, metallic taste, his nose aching and his vision swimming. The hands were back, then, all over him, ripping at his shirt, tearing at first his trousers, then his pants, and the laughter was growing deeper._

"_N..no…please…"_

_Harry was being forced onto his back, his legs being pushed apart and then a huge weight pinned him down. Harry squinted up at the face now hovering above his own, wondering absently what had become of his glasses. All thoughts of identifying his assailant disappeared, though, when he felt a brush of cold, calloused fingers caressing between his thighs. Harry tried to jerk away, a sob catching in his throat._

"_Ah, Harry, what's the matter? Didn't hear you complaining the first time."_

_And with that Harry felt his world ripped into two searing halves of pain, burning and eating at him from the inside out. A scream ripped from his throat before those hands were back around his throat, choking him into silence, into submission, and it all began to go black..._

Harry's eyes shot open and he bolted upright, colliding with something warm and solid and throwing his arms around it as if he were drowning. His whole body was shaking, drenched with cold sweat, and his heart felt as if it might rip right out of his chest it was pounding so fast.

Draco gazed in shock for a moment before wrapping an arm tentatively around the trembling boy clinging to him. He'd never seen Potter like this before. Certainly over the past week he'd frequently seen Harry looking less than heroic, but this... this was something entirely different. Potter's usual mask of courage, happiness, and bravery had slipped away entirely. He was tiny, and fragile and broken, and Draco couldn't help but shudder when he imagined what would have happened if the man in white had found Harry like this.

"It's...umm, it's okay. _Fuck_.. shh… calm down. It's okay now…"

He whispered, awkwardly patting the other boy's shoulder. When this failed to receive so much as a hiccup in response he sat at a loss for a moment. Finally, Draco felt his shoulders sag with defeat. Honestly, this was getting ridiculous. With a final sigh he began rubbing Harry's back in slow, steady circles, using his free hand to support the limp head flopped against his shoulder as he shifted the mess in his arms more comfortably against his chest. Harry felt fragile in his arms, just skin and bones and left over muscle from days when he had been the epitome of Gryffindor strength and valor. And tears, apparently. The front of Draco's robes were _soaked._ He pulled a face, but did not pull away. He couldn't help but loosen his grip, though, afraid he might somehow break the shadow of a boy that had crawled into his lap.

Harry's tense form relaxed slightly as he recognized the blurry patch of pale skin under his chin with its expensive cologne and the soft wisps of blonde hair tickling his face. His cheeks felt hot with shame at the way he had leeched onto Malfoy, but he found he was trembling too badly to make any attempts at moving away. Draco, meanwhile, was still rubbing slow, firm circles on his back and the gentle rhythmic movement was gradually drawing out the tension from his rigid muscles and calming his erratic heartbeat. His breathing was still hitched, but Harry at last let his eyes drop closed once more. He wasn't sure how he had ended up in the other boy's lap, but he relaxed into the warmth and comfort of the moment all the same, secretly savoring the sense of security that Draco's arms around him provided. It was like a spell almost, or a pleasant dream, warm and safe and right. Harry wished it would never end. Which, of course, meant it promptly did.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

The words cut through the spell like a knife, slicing away the haze of warmth and sending Harry jolting back to reality. He pulled away sharply and Draco recoiled, his hands lingering on empty air for a moment before fluttering to lay useless in his lap. Harry tumbled backwards onto the pillows, throwing his balance and slipping from Draco's lap and back under the tangled covers with unexpected speed and relative grace. He pulled the blankets up to nearly cover his face, suddenly feeling very cold and exposed without the heat of Draco against him. The question remained unanswered in the air between them and the silence of the room was fast becoming oppressive, weighing on them for several minutes before Draco pushed onward.

"What did you dream about?"

Harry didn't answer. He couldn't. He couldn't tell Draco what he'd dreamt, hated how much the other boy already knew about what had happened. Harry's fingers clenched tightly in the blankets, gripping them so fiercely his knuckles were white in the darkness. Draco reached out to take Harry's hand in his but the other boy pulled back sharply, green eyes darting to glare at Malfoy, only just realizing he didn't have his glasses on. At the moment, he didn't really care.

"Nothing, Malfoy. It's none of your business."

Harry spat between clenched teeth. Due to his lack of glasses, he missed the slightly pained but mostly annoyed expression that shot across Draco's face at this, but still the Slytherin persisted.

"You dreamt about him, didn't you? About what happened…"

Harry tried to growl a warning, but even to his own ears it sounded more like a whimper.

"Who did this to you, Potter? Who hurt you? Tell me, and if not me, Dumbledore, but tell someone. Let them help you, they can catch him, stop him, make him pay. Harry, let them help you. Let... let _me_ help you. We can…"

"Shut up! Just... just shut _up_, Draco, I can't!"

A broken sob. Tears lit Harry's green eyes, making them bright and otherworldly, more vibrant than any normal person's eyes should be and Draco was feeling unsettled. Harry's hands gripped the blankets so tightly Draco was sure his fingers would break soon under the pressure and again he reached out to take Harry's hand in his own, but again Harry pulled away. There was the distinct sound of cloth ripping and a fist hurtling towards Draco's face but he didn't bother to block it, barely even flinching as it connected with his chin and lower lip. The blow was weak, though, and he was too absorbed watching Harry's expression to care as he felt a tiny trickle of blood escaping his newly split lip.

"You can, Harry. You have to."

Neither seemed to notice that they had stopped calling each other by surnames.

"You wouldn't understand! You think you know everything, but you're just as bloody daft as the rest of them! Fine, you want to know? You really do? Yeah, I was dreaming about him, I dream about him every single fucking night. Again and again, every time more detailed than the last until I can actually taste the blood, feel the bruises on my throat where he tried to strangle me…"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Harry pressed on, his voice trembling.

"You wanna know who he is? Is that it? Well I can't tell you, you know why? Because I don't fucking know, okay! There, I said it. I don't know who did this to me…"

By then the tears building in Harry's eyes had overflowed, pouring in unchecked rivers down his cheeks, which were flushed red with anger and shame. Draco could only look on in shock.

"I hardly remember anything of the past two months at all, bits and pieces and someone, a man... just like a shadow. His voice.. his.. his hands…"

Harry had begun to shake all over, wrapping his arms around himself protectively and letting his fingers absently stroke along his own throat, as if to reassure himself it was still intact. The sobs, when they came, were startlingly violent and obviously uncontrollable.

"Bloody hell… Harry…"

Draco reached out uncertainly, hand hovering a few inches from the other boy's shoulder.

"Harry I'm sorry, I.. I didn't know. It... it'll be okay. We'll get him, I swear. We'll find out who did this and we'll get him… we'll send him to Azkaban, Harry, forever and ever and he'll never hurt you again, I promise…"

Merlin, what was he saying? He couldn't promise that! What if he hadn't followed the bastard that night? What would be happening to Harry right that moment if he had just been looking the wrong way when that dot of red had made its way through the crowd? Dumbledore's dire assessment that Harry's attacker had not intended for him to survive was clouding his judgment, he knew, but it didn't matter. From what he had witnessed that night Dumbledore was right. Harry could be... if he hadn't come, Harry could be... All earlier concerns for physical boundaries paled in comparison to that realization and Draco was vaguely aware of the sting in his shoulder as he pulled the sobbing boy into a tight, if somewhat lopsided, hug. Harry's tears were literally flooding the gash left by the backfired spell he'd cast earlier against the man in white, but that too seemed rather petty at the moment. It took a long time for the tears to slow, and even longer for the sobbing to stop, but eventually the room fell to silence once more. When Harry was the first to break it, Draco wasn't quite sure if he should back away or hold his ground. Touching Potter like this when there weren't any tears or near-death situations involved was strange, but since Harry showed no sign of moving he decided not to either.

"When I... I first..." Harry paused, trying to steady himself. "When the dreams began it was just shadows at first, and hands... everywhere. But this time... I saw someone."

Harry's voice was a whisper against Draco's neck, and both of them shivered. Though, each for very different reasons.

"Tonight… I still couldn't see his face, but… I could see his shoes, and his trousers. They were white. So white they were... glowing, almost. I was on the floor, and he held out his hand. I thought he was going to help me, but then... "

Harry trailed off, running light, shaky fingers along his nose. It was sore, and felt a little bruised, but that was likely from when it had actually been broken the week before. Draco's arms tightened around Harry, breath catching in his throat. White? Harry had dreamt of the man in white? That was impossible. There was no way Harry could have seen him through that tiny crack in the door. Hell, the screens had still been up, and Harry had been asleep! It was just... impossible! But then, so was apparating inside Hogwarts, but that he had seen with his own eyes. Was this really any less strange?

No stranger, certainly, than the feel of Harry crawling into his lap and hiding his face in the arch of Draco's throat as if he wanted to hide there forever. When Harry unconsciously nuzzled against his ear, likely just trying to find a comfortable position, Draco hot shivers run from his chest all the way to his toes- it felt like his heart had liquefied. He could quite literally feel it turning to molten heat in his chest before it slid down into the pit of his stomach, causing a great wave of warmth to surge through him. As he absently attempted to smooth the dark, wild hair tickling his nose, Draco couldn't help but remember a proverb he had heard long ago as a child- if you save someone's life, you are responsible for it. Forever. He knew his father had intended it as a deterrent from such noble actions, but the strange sense of purpose filling Draco went beyond that. Perhaps his pledge too Harry had come in the heat of the moment, but now he had promised and, after all, a Malfoy never broke a promise.

~*~

They sat like that in silence for a long time- curled together, with Draco occassionally rubbing Harry's back when he felt the sobs threatening to begin again. Eventually Draco's own back began to ache from the combined strain of Harry's weight and his own, but Harry was so reluctant to let go Draco begrudgingly suggested they lay down. Together. On the bed. Pain tightened Harry's face as he tried to make the simple transition from sitting to laying down, and Draco was beginning to wonder why Madam Pomfrey hadn't returned yet.

"Do you.. umm.. need any potions or anything?"

Harry looked mortified, frozen halfway beneath the covers. However, eventually he conceded.

"Yeah, I guess I should. Umm, thanks. They're in the cabinet over in the corner. I don't think she labels anything, but there's a light blue one, a dark green, a deep orange one and a clear one- that one's on the top shelf, the rest are on the bottom."

Draco looked a little taken aback but collected the numerous phials none the less.

"Harry, do you even know what all of these _do_?"

Eyes narrowed, Harry snatched the handful of potions from Draco.

"What kind of question is that, Malfoy?"

Harry snapped, the soft tinkling of glass loud in the awkward silence as he fumbled through the phials.

"Basic pain relief potion-" Harry picked up the dark green phial, knocking it back in one.

"Calming drought-" The light blue potion came next, again swallowed in one shot.

"Doctor Squeedly's Bone Mender-" The orange one, Draco gathered, had a horrible taste. However, apart from the look of mild disgust on his face Harry downed this one effortlessly as well.

"And this one," Harry held up the clear phial, eyes dark and sad, "is really none of your business."

When he was finished Harry lined up the empty phials on his bedside table in case Madam Pomfrey mistakenly thought he hadn't taken them.

"But the real question, Draco, is why do you care?"

Silver eyes widened slightly under Harry's intent gaze.

"It was a reasonable question. I mean, that was a lot of potions. And actually the blue one is Draught of Peace."

Draco pointed out, casually picking up the phial that had contained the clear mystery potion and studying it carefully. Harry quickly snatched it from his hands and returned it to the table.

"If you knew then why did you ask?" Harry snapped. "But no, I mean, why..." the harsh tone from before was softening, and Harry's eyes lowered to the blankets. "Why are you helping me? I mean… hell, why are you even being nice to me? Why did you even… I mean, you saved me.. that day. Sorry, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I thought you wanted me dead. Why did you save my life?"

Harry at last looked back up at Draco, eyes shockingly clear despite all the crying he had been doing. Draco cringed under that intense green gaze. He'd been hoping Harry wouldn't think of that for a while- he was still trying to come up with an answer for himself.

"I..well.. I… I don't know. I guess it's just.. I was the one that found you. There was no one else around, so I thought…"

Harry's tired, curious gaze narrowed, shoulders squaring defiantly.

"No!" Draco backpedaled. "I just meant, you were all alone-"

"I don't need your charity work, _Malfoy_. I'm perfectly fine on my own."

Draco winced as Harry all but spat out his surname, humiliation and anger rising quickly in those weary green eyes as Harry struggled to sit back up in bed. Apparently, Draco had said the wrong thing.

"Wait… no, Harry. Wait. I.. I didn't mean it like that."

It made sense really. Of course Harry would be upset by the implication that he had no one to rely on besides his long time rival. What with Ron and Hermione having seemingly abandoned him and the absence of the get well cards and candy that usually filled his bedside table, it was no wonder that was a particularly touchy subject. What a stupid thing to say… stupid, _stupid_, stupid.

"That wasn't what I meant. I… I'm sorry. What I meant was that… well… I guess seeing you like that made me realize, maybe I don't… don't hate you quite as much as.. as I thought I did…"

He realized belatedly he'd grabbed hold of Harry's hand at some point, to keep the Gryffindor from running off, he supposed. He quickly dropped it, taking a deep breath. Slowly he lowered himself to perch on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Look, I'll be honest. At the time, it all happened so fast I wasn't really thinking about _why_. You were there, and you were... it was just so _bad_, and then, when you stopped breathing, I just... I couldn't just watch you die. As for... this," he pointed between them, indicating their startling proximity. Had he scooted closer at some point without realizing? "I'm not entirely sure why, but.. it's not because I feel sorry for you, or because anyone asked me to, or because you don't have anyone else. It's because, well… I.. I want to. I kind of liked spending time with you this week, and what happened to you... I just can't believe..." Draco broke off for a moment, realizing not only was he babbling but he had yet again said much more than he intended. He didn't bother punishing himself, though- it was.. somehow _okay_ to say things like that in the safety of the darkness, things he would never say to anyone, least of all _Potter_, in the light of day. "I meant my promise, and what I said. I'm helping you, because I want to."

Draco, who had spent much of his monologue picking at a loose thread from the blankets, at last hazarded a glance at Harry. He was watching Draco, seemingly lost in thought with a rather unnerving smile on his face.

"Does this mean we're not rivals anymore?"

There was a hopeful tone in Harry's voice that Draco couldn't pass up.

"That depends, Harry. Do you want to be?"

Somehow, Harry thought, that smirk seemed almost… playful. He smiled back.

"Well, I suppose that also depends, Draco. Are you still going to cry when I beat you at Quidditch?"

Draco gasped in mock outrage, though deep down he couldn't help but feel relieved by the faint echo of their old banter, especially after the overly sentimental conversation they'd just had.

"Oh, you're in for it now, Potter. We are _definitely_ still rivals, and I am going to trounce you so thoroughly you'll be begging me for mercy…"

This time, though, Harry was ready for the attack and grabbed Draco's wrists, rolling the shocked Slytherin onto his back and pinning him down.

"Begging for mercy, you say? The only one about to be begging is you, _Draco_."

And with that began a war of tickling that lasted well past midnight and produced sufficient cries and squeals of laughter to wake every portrait in the corridor. Eventually it ended with a mutual surrender as two sweaty, exhausted boys dozed off in a heap of bunched up blankets and a tangle of limbs. Needless to say, Harry did not suffer any further nightmares that evening.


	12. The Very Difficult Day: Part 1

It took Draco a long time to wake up enough to remember where he was. Wherever he was, it was warm and soft and smelled very nice, and it drew him back to sleep each time he started to wake, quieting the questions in his mind. It was, at last, a shrill, high, shriek that pulled Draco from his warm cocoon.

"What are _you_ doing here?! _Out_! Out! Out! Out!"

Here? Where was here? Why was this person being so loud?

Instead he just rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.

Another shriek and again he was being pulled away from the warmth, this time by a pair of hands grabbing at him roughly.

"No…"

He mumbled sleepily, kicking at the unseen attacker. This was a mistake though, as his legs were grabbed roughly and pulled hard, dragging him forcefully from the warmth.

Draco landed hard on the cold stones of the floor, jarring awake. Looming over him was a very red, very angry Madam Pomfrey. He was in the hospital. Stealing a peak back up at the bed, he registered a couple very important facts. The first of these was that the pillow he had been snuggling against was not a pillow. It was Harry Potter. Which meant he'd fallen asleep in the hospital, in Harry's bed.. with Harry. Which meant, of course, Madam Pomfrey had found them. Well, at least that explained why she was yelling at him. Again.

"_Out_! Go on, get! You should be in your dormitory, not here upsetting my patients! Out!"

She had grabbed Draco by the back collar of his shirt, all but dragging him towards the door when a hoarse voice called from the bed.

"Wait…"

Madam Pomfrey was at her wits end, though, and not even the sad face Harry gave her could make much difference.

"No, Harry, dear, you've got a very difficult day ahead of you, you need your rest. Now, you!"

She turned to Draco, who was sharing a sheepish look with Harry.

"Get out!"

And with that she gave a flick of her wand and the doors opened. A moment later they were closing behind Draco as he found himself forcibly thrown from the hospital. He landed on the stone floor, again, with a dull thud.

Inside the hospital, Harry heaved a great sigh before lying back down. Outside the window he could see the heavy grey clouds growing lighter as the sun rose, signaling morning was already dawning quickly. It was Monday, the first day of November, and, as much as Harry hated to admit, Madam Pomfrey was right. It was going to be a very long day.

~*~

Draco sulked all the way back to the dungeons. On one hand, he was absolutely humiliated that Pomfrey had found him and Harry asleep together. Merlin, what that must have looked like to her! He couldn't help but laugh to himself at the thought. As embarrassing as it was though, Draco couldn't help but think that in some strange way, it had been worth it. He'd never meant to fall asleep, that was for certain, but there was definitely something nice about being so close to Harry- a feeling he was beginning to think he wouldn't mind getting accustomed to. He was just so warm, all the time... and soft. Far too soft for someone so bony.

Draco shook his head to clear it of such blasphemous thoughts as he reached the blank stretch of wall marking the entrance to the Slytherin common room, whispering the password and sneaking inside. It was early though, just barely past six o'clock, and his dorm mates were all snoring loudly in their beds. Slipping out of his ripped and rumpled formal wear, Draco crawled under the sheets and closed his eyes, intending to get another half hour or so of sleep. However, a nagging little question kept playing at his mind.

Why had Madam Pomfrey said it was going to be a very difficult day for Harry?

The thought refused to leave him be. Not as his dorm mates began to wake and move about, or as he at last gave up any chances of sleep, or even as he stood beneath the warm spray of the shower; still the question prodded at him. The niggling thought followed him all the way to the Slytherin house table for breakfast. In fact, his wondering did not cease until at last he finally looked up from his thoughts when the clatter and noise of the Hall fell silent. There, gingerly stumbling alone through the huge, open doors, was a very small, very tired Harry Potter.

Draco's jaw dropped. Why hadn't Harry _said_ anything?! They had been up talking all night, and the other boy hadn't seemed surprised at all by Pomrey's comment that morning, so he must have known. _Git._ Draco himself had certainly realized that eventually Harry would be returning to classes, but today? So soon? It had only been a little over a week since Harry had nearly _DIED_ and they were sending him back to classes? Bloody hell, he was still on 5 potions a night! He watched in shock as Harry took his usual place towards the middle of the table beside Ron and Hermione, both of whom gave Harry a quick hug and then began chatting amicably with him as if nothing had happened.

A spark of anger flared deep in Draco's chest. How dare they! The stupid Weasel and his Mudblood whore. How dare they talk to Harry as if nothing had happened, as if they were still his best friends? They'd not visited Harry at all, hadn't sent him notes or gifts or cards. Nothing. They'd all but abandoned their supposed "friend" for the past week, just days after he'd almost _died_.

Draco looked again at the dark haired Gryffindor, and the spark of anger exploded into a full flame. Harry looked weak and tired, and very uncomfortable in the din of the Great Hall. He just sat there, a muffin of some kind left neglected on his plate as he tried his best to smile at the Gryffindors that came to welcome him back.

What were they thinking, sending him back so soon? It was obvious he wasn't ready yet. He looked so tired, and Draco suddenly wondered if he'd even be able to carry his own books, for as wobbly as he looked. Had the whole school gone batty? First Harry's supposed best friends didn't even come back to visit him, and now Pomfrey was just shoving him back into classes little over a week later? He knew for a fact Harry hadn't even been sent the homework he'd missed; he'd be completely unprepared.

Draco was at a loss. Potter had always been placed high on a golden pedestal, fussed over and coddled and adored by students and faculty alike, save most of the Slytherins and Snape of course. And then for it to just be ripped away, when he needed it most? There was something strange going on, something very peculiar indeed, and Draco didn't like it at all.

As breakfast drew to a close, Draco watched Harry carefully, waiting until he leaned in to say something to his friends before standing and walking slowly back out of the Hall, most likely off to fetch his books from Gryffindor Tower. Draco waited a minute or two so as not to seem suspicious before he stood, leaning in to tell Blaise he'd meet them in potions before darting out as well. Pansy, who had been watching Draco watch Potter all morning, absently stirred her cocoa, brow furrowed in thought.

~*~

Harry was having a bit of trouble with the stairs. A lot of trouble, really. It took him so long to climb up a single flight that by the time he got to the top, the staircase had moved. He would then take another staircase to get back on track, but that one would inevitably do the same. Thus, Harry quickly became very lost. That is how Draco came to find him sitting on a staircase near the Hufflepuff common room, completely winded and looking near to crying.

"Potter? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be out of the hospital…"

Draco sat down beside him, resting a hand on Harry's arm. Harry jumped.

"Malfoy? I… I can't get to Gryffindor Tower. The stairs… they keep moving. I'm going to be late."

Harry looked up at him sadly, his eyes faded to greenish grey and looking hollow.

"It's okay; I'll help you to the Tower. Why are you out of the hospital though?"

Harry tried to stand up, but the staircase moved again and he lost his balance, thudding back into place with a wince that was difficult to watch.

"Pomfrey released me, said that as long as I take my potions I don't need to stay there anymore. I'm only doing half classes today though. I have a meeting with Dumbledore after lunch."

Well, that proved it. The whole school had gone barmy. Harry had been sent back to classes by Pomfrey and with Dumbledore's knowledge to boot. Honestly, was he the only one who saw the way Harry shrank from other people? The way he winced at the slightest of touches? The way he wasn't eating?

"Come on, Potter. Let's go get your books. We've got Potions together first thing anyway."

Draco stood, helping Harry to his feet and leading him up the staircase. It quickly became apparent, though, that shifting staircases weren't the only problem. Harry was completely winded from the short climb, clutching his side and looking as though he might faint.

"Umm… why don't you just wait here? I'll go get your things. You have Charms second, right?"

Harry nodded, then shook his head.

"No… no one will let you in."

"Tell me the password, and which room is yours. I doubt anyone will be there this time of morning anyway."

"No... the Fat Lady. She won't let you in. Ever since Sirius-" Harry's voice hitched. "Since third year, she's not let in a single person that doesn't stay in the Tower, password or not."

There was a long moment of silence, and Draco looked around. Judging by the clock a little ways off by the Hufflepuff portrait hole, classes had already started. Teachers were all busy, students all in class. That meant no one around to see…

"Come on, Potter."

Draco slid down to his knees, back to Harry, waiting. Harry just looked at him in disbelief.

"Come on already, classes started five minutes ago- we're already late. It's at least three more flights of stairs either way, and Snape will kill us both if we show up late _and_ without your books."

"Malfoy, are you mental?"

Harry took a cautious step forward anyway.

"Hurry up!"

The staircase behind them began to shift again and Harry quickly stepped forward to avoid being taken with it. Draco, seizing the chance, grabbed him behind the knees and hoisted him up. Harry barely had a moment to throw his arms around Malfoy's neck and hold on before the crazy Slytherin took off at a run towards Gryffindor Tower.

~*~

Harry and Draco were a half hour late to Potions that morning. A very peculiar thing happened, though, when at last they did arrive. As the door creaked shut behind them Snape, who had been lecturing about the uses and properties of Damiana, stopped mid sentence. He looked at the two boys standing frozen near the door, dark eyes narrowing slightly before picking up precisely where he'd left off, leaving the two to hurry quietly to their seats. The entire Potions lesson passed without incident as Snape droned on about the potion they would begin the next day. He talked until the bell chimed, signaling the end of class, at which point he stopped mid-lecture, turned and strode purposefully to his office, closing the door firmly behind him. No detention, no snide remarks, no homework.

"That was… strange."

Draco murmured, looking over his shoulder at the distant door of the Potions classroom as he and Harry walked towards Charms.

"Yeah… never thought I'd live to see the day Snape passed up an opportunity to take House points from Gryffindor!"

Harry was practically beaming, his worries briefly forgotten in favor of recalling Snape's silently annoyed expression. Likewise, Draco was also smiling broadly, though for a different reason entirely. Snape's reaction actually had him slightly unnerved, especially in light of recent events. Had something happened he didn't know about? Was Snape mad at him now? And, if so, would he still brew the Veritaserum? He pushed those thoughts away, though, delighting instead in his Gryffindor companion's broad smile and relaxed demeanor. It had been a long time since he'd seen Potter looking truly happy and calm, and never had he been able to share in it before.

"Well, this is my stop."

Harry came to a halt beside the door to the Charms classroom, which was quickly filling with very loud Gryffindors. Draco suddenly got an idea.

"Umm.. Potter? I was wondering. Would you like to meet in the library later? I mean, you've been out for a week and all; I could help you get caught up on your homework a bit. You could borrow my notes too, if you want. I mean, since we're starting a new potion tomorrow and all..."

A brief moment of shock was all it took before Harry's face burst once more into an exited smile.

"Sure! Thanks, Malfoy. After dinner we can walk over together, if that's okay with you."

Another smile and a nod from Draco.

"Good. I'll see you later then. Oh, and be careful not to let the other Gryffindors swipe all the food… you could use it."

A playful smirk and a soft poke at Harry's non-stomach had the Gryffindor sticking his tongue out in mock indignation, though it quickly melted into a brief smile. Harry turned and paused uncertainly at the door for a moment before he walked determinately into the classroom. Draco tensed as he watched Harry take a seat between Longbottom and one of the other Gryffindor boys in their year whose name he'd never bothered to learn, bristling to see the unknown boy gently touch Harry's shoulder. He quickly turned and hurried off in the other direction to Arithmancy, though. It was no matter- he would see Harry again soon enough.


	13. The Very Difficult Day: Part 2

However, Draco did not see Harry again soon, though certainly not from lack of trying. At the beginning of lunch he'd hurried back over to Charms to walk the Gryffindor to the Great Hall, only to find he was already gone. Gone where, though, he had no idea. Lunch came and went without a trace, and Draco felt slightly uneasy, hoping Harry hadn't gotten stuck on another staircase somewhere. The Gryffindors for the most part seemed blissfully unaware of his absence, despite the few distinctly worried faces. He noticed, with no little displeasure, that both Weasely and Granger were absent as well.

As dinner approached anticipation began to replace the anxiety, but as the meal progressed the unease that had plagued him all afternoon began to take precedence once more, shifting from mild concern to blatant worry. The Weasel and the Mudblood were there, at least, but still no sign of Harry. Throughout the length of the meal Draco barely touched his turkey and potatoes, occassionally pushing them around on his plate with his fork as he watched the doors to the Hall avidly, willing Harry to walk through at any moment. He didn't. Minutes ticked slowly into an hour, then beyond, and Draco felt slightly panicky as the students slowly drained from the Great Hall. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables were the first to clear out and the plates and glasses magically began neatly stacking themselves up before disappearing. For lack of any other distraction, considering he was nearly the last student in the Hall, Draco watched as a bucket of soapy water appeared at each of the abandoned tables and several old wooden scrubbing brushes set themselves about the task of washing up.

Draco's intermittent staring match with the now-closed door was only broken when raised voices from the staff table caught his notice, drawing his attention in time for him to see McGonagall abandon her own chair in favor of baring down on Snape at the opposite end of the table, her usually wrinkled forehead creased even further and her pointed jaw firmly set. Likewise, Draco noticed the normally blasé Potions Master looked anxious and restless. Silver eyes narrowed as he studied the man he had always admired, a strange unease coming over him once more. Snape and McGonagall began arguing about something in low, strained voices, which Draco was having a difficult time hearing from so far away. He was straining his ears so hard that he jumped as the Hall doors creaked back open, and his head shot around in time to see the remaining Ravenclaws exit. A distinct frown creased Draco's brow. Dinner was over, but Potter hadn't shown. Had he just been stood up?

What should he do? With all the peculiarities that had been going on the past week he found himself feeling genuinely worried about his former rival, and with good reason, he thought. After all, the entire school had seemingly gone round the bend; minus himself of course, and Potter, whose courageous stupidity was nothing new. What if Harry was in trouble again, though? Stuck stranded somewhere. Hurt. Lost. Or, the worst thought of all: what if the man in white had found him? Draco looked up again at the sound of footsteps, watching for a moment as Snape strode towards the doors to the Hall. He sighed again.

"_What do I do now_?"

Draco silently asked the plate of cold potatoes and turkey sitting in front of him. He'd never been in such a strange position. He'd already asked himself a thousand times, but couldn't resist doing so again: why him? And if it _did_ have to be him, then why did it have to be Potter he was stuck in this with? Was that why Snape had been acting so strange lately? Did he hate Draco for saving Potter? Did Snape know something about the mysterious mission his father had mentioned? Had he already botched it before he ever even learned what it was? If so... what would happen to him?

Draco shuddered head to foot at the mere thought, but shook it off as quickly as he could. If all of that was the case, there was no point in thinking about it now. He would just deal with the consequences when they came, just as he had always done. For now he had a more immediate dilemma- Potter was still missing.

What should he do? What if Potter _was_ hurt? Alright, hurt worse than he was already. No one else seemed to care. Should he go and search for the stupid Gryffindor?

However, it appeared as if Lady Luck had not given up on him entirely, for as Snape reached the doors they burst open, knocking the sallow professor back a few steps. There, framed in the arched doorway, was Harry Potter, looking pale and shaky and staring wide eyed at Snape. Readjusting his black, wooly robes about himself, the Potions Master sneered, hissing something Draco couldn't hear before pushing roughly past Harry and slamming the doors behind him.

Harry's gaze immediately fell to the Slytherin table, locking onto the pale form of its only inhabitant before hurrying over as best he could manage. Draco couldn't help but think, with a small sense of satisfaction, that Potter looked something like a baby hippogriff as he trotted shakily across the room. As he approached, Draco decided he looked more like a drowned baby hippogriff, as he was gasping open mouthed for air, his face pale and glazed with sweat, his usually wild mane of hair looking tame and limp with moisture.

"I..I'm… s..so sorry…"

Harry's eyes fluttered and he started to fall. With a surge of panic, Draco brought an arm about quickly to catch and support the nearly weightless Gryffindor, guiding the other boy into the chair beside him. Harry was panting heavily, and Draco glanced frantically to the Staff table, which had already emptied. In fact, he and Harry were the only two people remaining in the Great Hall.

Turning his attention back to the panting boy beside him, Draco's eyes widened.

"Potter? Merlin, what's wrong? Do you need to go to the Hospital?"

Draco pressed the back of his hand firmly to Harry's forehead, but the Gryffindor shook his head, batting the hand away.

"I'm fine. Just.. kinda tired. I'm sorry I'm late, I was with Dumbledore. The meeting.. took a long time."

Draco quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"All this time you've been with Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded, swiping at the sweat on his face. Draco handed him a napkin

"He.. he asked me a lot of questions. Bout.. you know…"

He trailed off and Draco nodded.

"Did you tell him what you told me last night?"

Draco watched as Harry's face twisted in a painful, awkward sort of scowl, green eyes glued guiltily to the table as he mumbled something. The something didn't quite make it to Draco's ears though, as the heavy oak doors to the Great Hall were suddenly flung open with a loud groan, quickly accompanied by a thundering bang as they crashed into the wall. The sight framed there had Draco battling to suppress a groan of his own.

"Harry! There you are! We've been looking all over for you!"

Hermione's voice was unusually high as she called out across the Hall, and Draco visibly cringed. What the hell was she doing here? Sod it all, and the Weasel? Sure enough, the glaring splash of red hair was visible poking sheepishly inside the entrance to the Hall before Ron ran in as well.

"Harry!"

No..No.. No! Why were they here? No, go away!

Draco wanted to scream at them and, judging from the look of uncomfortable shock on Harry's face, he wasn't exactly sure what to make of their appearance either.

"Oh, Harry, we've been looking all over for you! What were you thinking, disappearing like that? Had us worried sick! Now that you're feeling well again we've so much to tell you!"

Hermione caught Harry in an enormous hug, pulling the thin, dark haired boy to his feet. Harry winced and stumbled at the sudden pressure, grabbing hold of the chair back for support when his vision began to swim from vertigo. Draco's teeth clenched so tightly he felt his jaw pop.

"Let go, you stupid Mudblood, or can't you see that he _isn't_ feeling well?"

Draco forcibly pushed Hermione away, letting Harry grip his arm for support as he stumbled back into his seat. Silence fell over the group, Ron and Hermione staying uncharacteristically quiet, gazing curiously at their Slytherin rival.

"Malfoy... don't call her…"

As soon as Harry regained his breath he tried to protest on Hermione's behalf, however, his weak voice was lost as the conversation continued on around him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you weren't feeling well, Harry."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully, her hand resting on his arm, though her eyes stayed locked with Draco's.

"Yeah, Harry, let's get you back up to the Common Room. Now Malfoy mentions it, you do look a bit knackered."

Draco's jaw dropped at this, staring in shock as Ron reached forward to help Harry to his feet.

"Yes, come on, Harry. Let's go back to the Tower. You should rest."

Harry pulled his arm away though, looking from one grinning Gryffindor face to the other, scowling. All Draco could do was watch with morbid fascination.

"Hold up a second. You certainly weren't interested in my well being this morning! All you did was babble on about classes and the Ball last night Lavendar snogging Seamus! And where _were_ you last week?! I was just in the hospital for nine days and neither of you came back after the first! You two left me all alone, didn't even send a note or something… I felt miserable, thought you were mad at me or something…"

Harry trailed off, voice sounding distinctly wounded, somewhat similar to how Draco felt. Alone? Harry hadn't been alone…

"Oh Harry, we're both so sorry, aren't we Ron?"

She glanced to the red head, who gave an enthusiastic nod.

"And technically we visited you twice, but the second time you were, well, throwing a bit of a fit."

Draco very nearly slapped her. A _fit_? The bloody scar reopened! Sure, he had thought the same thing at first, but _they_ didn't have any excuse. _They_ had been there! _They_ had seen it! _They_ were most likely the ones who had been spreading the rumors about _him_ causing it!

"It's just.. you see, Harry… while you've been in the Hospital, we've both been quite busy. Oh, we wanted to tell you this morning, but then you just ran off! You'll never believe it, really, it's amazing. I received a perfect score on our last Potion's test, as usual, and after class Professor Snape pulled me aside. You'll never believe it, Harry- he asked me to be his assistant! You know, helping with grading and tutoring other students, and even assisting him _personally_ on some of the more complicated potions he brews for Madam Pomfrey! He's says I'm the brightest mind he's ever come upon, Gryffindor or not! And Ron…"

At this the beaming red head stepped forward, completely ignoring the deadly fury in Draco's eyes.

"Ah, Harry, mate, you'll never believe it! The very next morning I was talking to Charlie about Quidditch, and he was saying what a shame it was, Katie wasting all my talent as Keeper. He said he'd talk to Dumbledore and try to get some strings pulled, and then..." Ron had to pause a moment to collect himself, he was so clearly about to dance right out of his skin. "They made me _Seeker_, Harry! I'm the bloody _Gryffindor Seeker!_"

Ron was beaming down at Harry, who had gone absolutely still. Draco's eyes had grown to roughly the size of a house elf's by that point, staring incredulously from the retched Mudblood, who had taken _his_ rightful job as Potions Assistant, to the stupid, bumbling Weasel.

"Are you bloody _mad_?"

He hissed, wild eyes darting between the Gryffindors.

"Why would they replace the youngest and _best_ Seeker in over a century with a failure like you? You couldn't catch the Snitch if it flew up and bit you in the arse!"

Ron looked hurt, and very slightly guilty at this.

"It's just that… well.. Harry being sick and all…"

And, as simple as that, Draco felt something inside him snap. Something that Harry's supposed friends and guardians had all been wearing at since this whole ordeal started over a week ago. Something that had once been his renowned rivalry with Harry Potter. Since that fateful morning on the Quidditch pitch he had felt his hatred for the Boy-Who-Lived begin to tremble and crack, ever-so-slowly crumbling. With each tear he'd seen Potter shed, each wince of pain, each fall he'd taken- all because of the incompetence of those he trusted- he had begun to care. _Really_ care. He numbly felt himself move forward to grasp the filthy Weasel by the collar of his robes, pulling the taller boy down to his level.

"He is _not_ sick, Weasley, but _you_ sure are. You are one _sick_, twisted _fuck_ of a friend. And all these years you called _me_ a slimy git. You certainly define the term well."

He gave the faded black robes a harsh twist as he pushed away, moving back to his chair with the pretense of picking up his book bag. As he did so, he let a hand brush Harry's shoulder, drawing the stunned boy's attention back to the present.

"Potter. Room of Requirement. Midnight. You're looking for... somewhere safe."

Harry flushed but gave a slight nod. Draco turned, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he pushed past the Gryffindors, snarling before he swept out of the hall, head held high, rage barely contained.


	14. The Room of Requirement

Midnight. Harry looked at his watch in the dim light of the dying fire in the common room. He was already late, but it couldn't be helped. He'd tried to sneak off to bed early, in hopes of slipping out unnoticed by means of his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map. No such luck. Ron had followed him up, incessantly talking about his new position on the team. Harry's position. Seeker.

Harry felt a tight ball of unpleasant emotions gathering in his chest. Even thinking about it made him want to scream or cry or kick something. But no. He was already late. Giving the map one last look, he folded it up with a whispered "mischief managed", pulling the cloak tighter around him before slipping out the portrait hole.

The walk from the Gryffindor common room to the Room of Requirement was a very short one, or at least it should have been. There were no stairs, moving or otherwise, no tricks or charms or spells or anything. Just a regular walk down the dark, cold corridor of the seventh floor. To Harry, though, it was one of the longest walks of his life. It had been an impossibly long, painful day. He'd had to climb so many stairs, see so many people… hear so many things he never thought he'd ever have to hear. Needless to say it was a cold, exhausted Harry Potter that did at last arrive somewhere near one o'clock.

The Room of Requirement was very different than it had been the last time he was there- the night Umbridge had caught them. Harry shuddered at the memory, pushing aside the perplexing realization that Malfoy had been there that night too. But that had been a different lifetime, it seemed, and he was now a very different Harry than he had been then. Not to mention somewhere along the way "Malfoy" had started becoming "Draco".

The room had changed as well, but that was to be expected, he supposed. It seemed shockingly elegant in contrast to his past memories of it- almost like a whole other common room. Dark tapestries hung from the walls and the carpet underfoot was thick, plush and deep maroon in hue. There was a huge stone hearth with a smoldering fire, and a low table with a large chair beside it. In it sat Draco Malfoy, curled up and snoring softly. Harry quickly turned round and took a quiet step back the way he'd come, suddenly feeling as if he were intruding. However, as his hand touched the door a loud crackling noise came from the other side of the room and Harry whirled, heart racing. In the moment or two since he had looked away the fire had flared back to life (the loud noise that had startled him, he assumed), and another chair had appeared beside it. The book on the table had been marked and set aside, replaced with a plate of sandwiches and two steaming mugs of tea. It was only then that it really occurred to Harry that he had not eaten all day.

He approached warily, unsure whether he should chance waking Draco or just turn back. The tea and sandwiches were beckoning though, and when Harry caught sight of a big, red plush blanket folded on the chair arm his decision was made for him.

"Hey, not fair… I want one."

Draco's voice was husky with sleep and Harry nearly jumped, darting round to find the thoroughly ruffled, obviously groggy Slytherin glancing around for the green blanket that should have appeared. There wasn't one. Harry, still feeling awfully jumpy, sat down in his own chair beside Draco's, tucking his new blanket tightly around him. It was warm.. warmer than a normal blanket should have been, but he was very thankful of it.

"I _said_,_ I_ want one."

Harry looked over, nearly snorting to find Draco attempting to direct an intimidating glare at the room for denying his request. However, it wasn't very effective, as he couldn't seem to decide what exactly he should glare at. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Fine.. stupid room. Must be broken or something…"

Draco stood, shivering slightly in the draft before shoving himself into Harry's chair as well, pulling the blanket up over him.

"Oof, Malfoy?! Bugger off! That's my blanket! Get your own.."

Harry tugged slightly as the chair began to thankfully stretch itself out beneath them. The sudden contact had surprised Harry, and Draco's weight, however little of it had actually fallen on him, seemed unbearable.

"Well, apparently the room is requiring something of _us_ for once; that we share. Now give it here."

Draco pulled the blessedly warm blanket towards him, only to have Harry pull it back. Eventually, after several minutes of playing tug-of-war, it ended up more or less evenly distributed. With a huff, Draco reached out for the tray of sandwiches, his lack of dinner making itself known.

"Fine, but you have to share the sandwiches..." Harry protested weakly.

Draco smirked, sticking out his tongue in surprisingly dignified sort of way.

"No I don't; they're on my side. These are my sandwiches."

Draco couldn't help but think Harry looked dreadfully pathetic just then. His eyes got very large and his bottom lip began to tremble slightly and he looked as if he was about to cry or something. Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of this.

"Come on, Malfoy.. I haven't eaten anything all day. I'm… really hungry.."

Draco tsked, one eyebrow quirking in disbelief.

"You're kidding, right?"

Harry merely shook his head before he found the plate all but shoved at him.

"Honestly! Why? Why haven't you been eating? Merlin, Potter, you're nothing but skin and bones. Do you want to blow away or something?"

It was silent for a bit while Harry chewed a bite of sandwich thoughtfully.

"Why do you care whether or not I eat?"

Draco's hand froze on its way to reach for his cup of tea.

"What?"

"Why do you care whether or not I eat?"

Draco gaped for a moment, trying to look about for anything that might prompt a valid excuse, but found his eyes stuck in tantalizing green.

"Umm… I don't. I mean… didn't we already go through this?"

Harry looked thoughtful.

"Sort of, I suppose. I mean, I asked why you were helping me, but you could help me without caring if I eat or not."

The silence was so complete, Draco could almost imagine he heard the wheels turning in his head as he tried to formulate an answer.

"Well, not really. I mean, I could, but it wouldn't make much sense. After all, what's the use of saving your life and helping find whoever attacked you to begin with if you're just going to starve yourself to death?"

More silence, though slightly less awkward.

"Yeah… maybe, I guess."

Draco couldn't help himself as an almost genuine smile crept across his face.

"You know, if you ate, I wouldn't have to worry about whether or not you did. Why did you stop, anyway? Trying to trim down for the Yule Ball?"

Both boys couldn't help but laugh at this, and Draco suddenly found he couldn't get the image of Potter in a slinky red dress out of his mind, complete with black stiletto heels and glittering chandelier earrings. The laughter was short lived, though, and Harry quickly became very serious.

"Malfoy, I told you, I don't-"

He stopped, eyes going wide all of a sudden and breath catching. Draco leaned towards him a little, jumping back in his seat and snapping around to look behind him when a sudden gust of wind outside battered against the shutters and the flames in the hearth leapt before shrinking back to a dull smolder.

"No," Harry whispered, and when Draco turned back to him he was eerily still in the near darkness the dying fire had left. He was so utterly silent and motionless that Draco was tempted to touch him, just to make sure he hadn't somehow turned to stone while he'd been distracted.

"I... remember." Harry's voice was lower than Draco had ever heard it before, heavy and raspy, but barely louder than a breath. "He use to wait for me, by the Great Hall. Because he knew that even when I tried to avoid him I would have to eat, eventually. I went straight to the kitchens, for a while, but then.." He paused, obviously trying very hard to remember. "But then Dobby got in trouble. And I couldn't get food anymore. Not without asking someone, or..." Harry's eyes were vacant, and Draco was surprised to realize the other boy's breaths were coming in tiny clouds. He was even more surprised to realize his own were as well. When had it gotten so _cold_?

"Or without him finding me. Alone. I tried, for a while. I would go with Ron and Hermione, but he would be waiting. He would... oh, God... I.." Harry choked a little, unshed tears making his eyes glassy and cheeks even redder than the blanket he was clutching to his chest. "I got sick afterwards. Every time. He use to make fun of me. That's... that's when I stopped eating, except what I had to, here and there. That's how.. he caught me... that night. The Great.. Hall. I had.. a napkin.."

Harry was nearly hyperventilating and barely coherent, but Draco lunged, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"_Harry_? Are you saying the he's _here_? He's _inside the school_?" Draco, at first, was furious. This wasn't just an isolated attack? _It was a student? _How long had this been going on? Why hadn't Harry told anyone this _when_ it was happening? Why hadn't he told Weasely or Granger? Or Dumbledore? Or _anyone_? Why hadn't anyone _done_ anything? How had no one _noticed_?

Harry looked up at Draco as if he'd forgotten the other boy was there entirely.

"No... not a student."

Was all he seemed able to say. The tears at that point had finally broken and were falling down his cheeks in fat, heavy drops that Draco could hear as they splashed against his trembling hands.

And just like that the anger was gone, replaced with an overwhelming sense of uselessness. He could point fingers now all he wanted but the truth was _he_ hadn't noticed either. And if he had... Draco felt sick to think it, but couldn't deny- he would have laughed.

"Oh, Harry..."

Draco thought the other boy looked impossibly young just then, and realized he didn't even know how old Harry actually was. Sixteen, right? The same as him? When was his birthday? He didn't even know that for certain. Draco cringed as he felt his chest keen sharply somewhere in the general vicinity of his heart and he wondered absently if he might be developing some sort of medical condition. He should really get that looked at. For now, though, he cleared his throat uncertainly. He had to think of something

"Well then, Potter, there's only one thing to do." His voice was slightly stern and very business like, but he placed a light hand on Harry's arm through the blanket, smiling a little when startled green eyes finally met his. "I'll just have to make you a deal. You start eating again- three full meals each day to be precise- and in turn I will personally see to it that no one makes you regurgitate said meals."

At first Harry looked surprised, then annoyed, but in the end he couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright.. I suppose."

Draco extended his hand, and they shook on it.

"Good. Now, eat another sandwich…"

While Harry finished off the rest of his late dinner, Draco leaned back against the chair/sofa and tried to sort out the warm, aching mass of goo churning in his chest. Harry's presence was simply overwhelming; his warmth, his smell- the way he kept squirming with his thigh occassionally brushing against Draco's own. It was all very distracting and wasn't helping his new heart condition in the slightest. And so he waited in silence for Harry to finish eating, staring into the low flames crackling in the hearth.

"So..."

Draco spoke at last, trying to clear the strain from his voice. If Harry noticed he didn't say anything.

"How was your meeting with Dumbledore?"

"It was… long…"

Harry sighed, letting his head fall back against the chair cushions and wearily scrubbing his face with his hands.

"Yes, so we've established. What did you talk about?"

The hands flopped limply back into his lap, and Harry stared petulantly at the ceiling for a moment before finally relenting.

"Just… stuff.."

Another indignant snort from Draco.

"Alright.. alright. We talked about, you know…"

"The rape?"

Harry recoiled as if Draco had burnt him, practically hissing as he curled back in on himself. His fingers clamped vice-like around the blanket and his face, already slightly flushed from the heat of the fire, burned with shame. Draco wondered if he was about to get a shiner to match the previous night's split lip.

"Don't.. don't say that word."

Draco looked away awkwardly.

"Oh.. Sorry. I.. I didn't mean.."

He trailed off, uncertain if he should continue.

"So, umm.. what did he say?"

Harry sighed, trying in vain to push back a lock of wayward hair that kept falling in his eyes.

"He took some… samples... of ..stuff. From the pitch, right after you found me. And he had Pomfrey..." He trailed off, but Draco knew better than to prod further at the moment. He got the idea. "He said he's been running every test he can since then, checking for a physical presence or a magical signature or something."

This surprised Draco immensely. So maybe not _everyone_ had gone _completely _mental after all.

"Well? What did he find?"

Harry's sigh did not bode well.

"He.. well he said.." Another sigh, though this one sounded slightly disgusted and very bitter. "He doesn't _know_. The mark left.. it's not like anything he's ever seen before. I think the exact words were 'a strange, very powerful magical presence'. The he asked me.. who it was. I told him I couldn't remember anything."

Harry looked away, and when he did so Draco noticed the back of his shirt collar had pulled down a bit, exposing a small corner of that patch of bruising he'd seen the night before. Draco leaned forward, just barely, to get a better look. Unfortunately the dim firelight was of no help at all.

"So, he doesn't know everything you told me earlier?"

Harry's only answer was yet another sigh, and Draco decided not to press further. These new memories would mean another meeting, undoubtedly, and he was pretty sure Harry was not looking forward to that.

"And the dreams?"

Harry shook his head, and Draco found he really couldn't blame him for not telling Dumbledore. The dreams were very strange indeed, and more than a little unnerving. Knowing that batty old coot, there was no telling how he'd react.

"Then what happened?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and Draco frowned.

"Harry.. you can tell me.."

Draco placed a firm, reassuring hand on Harry's arm, and, to their mutual surprise, Harry did not pull away.

"He.. well, when he found out that I couldn't remember, he tried running some other tests to check and see if someone had cast an _obliviate_ or something. Then he had me try to use the pensieve, to see if he could help sort out my memories, but it's like a huge blank in my mind, just a gap with bits and pieces filled in. But he made me keep trying, all afternoon, and I kept remembering the things I do recall, again and again. It was like the dreams, but even worse. At least with those I eventually wake up and know it's not real, but these things..." Harry shuddered, talking faster and faster as his eyes lost focus. "I know they happened to me, but it feels like someone else's memories. Every time I see it happening to me again, I... I can't believe... and now Dumbledore's seen it too. He _saw_ it happen. He saw... _me_. Oh, _God_-"

Draco had tried, he really had. The night before in the Hospital had been a fluke, he told himself. There were extenuating circumstances, so he really couldn't be blamed for how... touchy... they had been. And Potter had been the one to start it, latching onto him like that. It was different than touching like that with Pansy and Blaise. They'd grown up together, been together through everything. They were practically family, certainly closer to each other than their own blood relatives. That touching was understandable, but _this_ was _Potter_.

When Harry's voice broke on that "Oh, God," though, something in Draco decided it didn't matter. He couldn't imagine hearing anything worse than that tiny hitched breath coupled with such overwhelming desperation, two words that summed up a life that was disintegrating in trembling hands. Draco couldn't help himself- his arms snaked around the smaller boy and pulled him, red blanket and all, flush against his chest. Harry sobbed, just once, and gratefully returned the embrace.

"Oh God, _Draco..."_

Harry hid his face in the dip of Draco's neck, shoulders trembling and fingers tangling in the other boy's robes. Draco had been horribly wrong, he realized. Those two words had been nothing without his name, and hearing them together was making his sides feel a little tingly.

"Why did _Dumbledore_ have to see me like that? And now that he knows, everyone's going to know. Now that he's seen what happened to me he'll have to report it. I don't want anyone to know... What if it leaks out? What if someone from the Daily Prophet gets word?"

Carefully, Draco removed the infamous glasses that were digging into his collar bone, placing them on the table before taking Harry's face between his hands and looking straight into the wide, panic-stricken eyes.

"It doesn't matter. Dumbledore won't tell anyone. He promised me. And he cares about you, even if he has a strange way of showing it. He just wants to help. And, if the Prophet does eventually get word, and if they're actually daft enough to publish it, which I doubt, then they can just sod off. If they expect you to play the savior and risk your life to save their disgusting, money-grubbing arses, they can at least show a little decency."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to pull away but Draco refused to let go. Eventually he stopped struggling, burying his face back against Draco's shoulder.

"You know about the Prophecy _too_?"

He groaned miserably.

Draco leaned back on the couch, pulling Harry with him.

"Mmm… yeah, I do. My father was the Dark Lord's right hand man for quite some time, after all."

Harry shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up almost all the way over his head so that just his timid face was staring up at Draco.

"Don't you hate me? I mean.. I helped put your father in Azkaban."

Draco smiled somewhat bitterly.

"This is true, you did. And for that, I don't hate you. In fact, I suppose I owe you some thanks. You see, if you hadn't, I would probably be in a Death Eater meeting right now."

Harry pulled back enough to look the other boy in the face properly, his close scrutiny making Draco feel slightly anxious.

"I thought you wanted to be a Death Eater. And what about your mother? Doesn't she support Voldemort?"

"No and yes. I never wanted to be a Death Eater. Well, maybe at some point I did, but no. Can you honestly see me bowing to anyone?"

Harry shook his head.

"Exactly. And impudence such as that does not bode well with the Dark Lord. Besides, I.. well, I guess I have a secret of my own. But this is _strictly_ between you and me, and it is _never_ to leave this room."

Harry nodded at him solemnly. He'd have crossed his heart as well, but it was already talking to Draco's anyway, sandwiched between them.

"I .. well, lets just say I'm a tad... delicate... when it comes to the sight of blood. "

The image of Draco, clad in Death Eater garb and swooning as he fanned himself with his mask entered Harry's mind, and he couldn't suppress the laughter that followed, even if it did get him lightly smacked in the back of the head.

"What about your mother then?"

Harry finally managed to ask once his laughter was under control.

"Hmm, no, don't think she cares much for blood either. Maybe it's hereditary."

Harry lightly smacked his arm.

"Ah, yes, she supports the Dark Lord's cause, but refuses to take the mark herself. She thinks it's terribly unbefitting a woman of her class. So of course, when I told her my skin was much too fine to take the mark, she agreed. Now that my father's locked away we're merely financial support for Voldemort, really."

A brief nod and Harry lay back down, closing his eyes. He knew that it should bother him a lot more knowing that the boy he was laying on (which was a strange enough occurrence on its own) was the son of an incarcerated Death Eater, one whom had personally attempted to kill him on several occasions no less. And, equally concerning, was the fact that the Malfoy family was _right that minute_ offering financial support the insane dark wizard who had killed his own parents and was still attempting to do the same to him. And then there was the fact that just the year before the other boy had been a member of Umbridge's stupid "Inquisitorial Squad" and had spent the year making all their lives hell, including being one of the primary reasons Harry had been banned from Quidditch. And yet, all he could think at the moment was that somehow, knowing Draco wasn't quite as evil as he made himself out to be was quite a relief.

Draco, meanwhile, was swimming in guilt. Actually, it felt more like drowning. He'd been almost entirely honest, but he'd omitted one key point- just because he wasn't a Death Eater _now_ and didn't _want_ to be did not mean that at some point he wouldn't _have_ to be anyway. He had heard of Death Eater children taken from school and forced into service for the Dark Lord under threat (or practice) of torture and violence. And, if his father was to be believed, that time would be very soon. Voldemort would supposedly be giving him a very important mission, and likely it would be something to do with hurting Harry. Draco shuddered a little and smoothed a hand over the bunched up sleeve of Harry's jumper. He just hoped he would still consider this worth it when he was under _Cruciatus.  
_

Nearly an hour of silence went by. Harry had been just about to doze off, lulled into relaxation by the warmth and Draco's hand absently rubbing his back. Draco, on the other hand, was very much awake, lost deep in thought until he could keep quiet no longer.

"So, let me make sure I've got this straight…" Harry twitched back awake, the thin veil of sleep yanked back abruptly.

"You can't remember who... did this. Dumbledore, supposedly one of the most gifted wizards to date, can't decipher their magical signature, and you're memory is somehow mysteriously sealed. Oh, and whoever it is may or may not be in the bloody _castle_. Meanwhile, the whole school proceeds to go batty. Lovely. _Now_ what are we supposed to do?"

Harry yawned, shifting into a half-sitting position in an attempt to wake up. However, his head quickly dropped back to Draco's shoulder, eyes already closing again.

"I dunno. He said he wants to see you tomorrow though. Something about a Truth Serum."

Draco paled. Already? It couldn't be done yet. Dumbledore said it would be at least two weeks! Something must be wrong. He sneered, but nodded anyway, shoving his free hand anxiously through his hair. He was worried, but there was nothing he could really do about it at the moment. There was something else bothering him as well, though. He'd been sure the man in white he had seen on Halloween had been Charlie Weasley, despite the strange black eyes and eerie voice. Maybe he had been mistaken, though. After all, Dumbledore had sensed an _indecipherable_ magical mark- the Weaselys were about as decipherable as it got. Harry had said the man had been inside the school, but was not a student. A teacher? Absolutely not. What if the man was a stranger? But if so how had he gotten by unnoticed? And for so long? Polyjuice? And why would he want to hurt Harry, much less kill him? Unless... they were _sent_ by someone.

Draco glanced at the clock; well after three a.m.

"You should probably get back to your dorm, Harry. We don't want people to worry."

Harry yawned again, eyes darting to glance at the clock above the mantle. It was late, and he was tired, to be sure, but somehow.. he just couldn't stand the thought of going back to his dorm. Knowing that he would wake to Ron's excited babble about Quidditch… no, he couldn't stand the thought of going back.

"Don't you want to go back?"

Draco watched Harry closely. It was impossible to miss the pained, betrayed look in those expressive green eyes, and while it did nothing to ease the uneasy ache in his chest, he felt a smug sense of satisfaction that Harry preferred his company to the Weasel/Mudblood duo.

"Draco…"

Harry whispered, as if afraid to actually say it aloud.

"Have you noticed something… odd… about everyone lately?"

Draco couldn't suppress an ironic chuckle at this. Maybe Harry _was_ acting unusual after all. It was truly rare for the Gryffindor Golden Boy to be so perceptive when Dark Lords weren't involved. The sadness etched across Harry's face was very sobering though.

"Yes… I have noticed quite a few strange things lately, Harry. People seem to be acting very peculiar."

Harry knew he was referring to Snape's earlier reaction to their tardiness, and Ron's new position as Gryffindor Seeker. Not to mention Hermione's appointment as Potions Assistant.

"I just can't face Ron right now. I feel so guilty. I know I should be happy for him, but…"

"What!"

Draco bristled, platinum eyebrows shooting nearly to his hairline.

"Don't be daft! There's no reason to be happy for that Weasel! He has not talent at Quidditch at all, and not only did he steal you're rightful place on the team, but he wasn't even nice about it! He didn't even consider how you'd feel."

For once, Harry did not argue with Malfoy's logic, or the use of the name "Weasel". It seemed oddly appropriate at the moment.

"Maybe…"

Harry finally conceded. Draco let his head fall back against the armrest with a soft "thud".

"Look, we'll figure out what's going on, don't worry. I mean, I'll admit, at the moment, you're probably not up to playing-"

"Hey! What are you, my doctor now?"

Harry shot defensively, quickly sitting back up, suppressing an impressive wince in the process.

Draco sneered, the lack of sleep and abundance of mortally significant dilemmas beginning to make him cranky.

"Oh? You think you're up to it, Potter? Think you'd really be alright just waltzing back onto the pitch? Think you could even remember how to ride a broom right now?"

Harry jerked back violently, totally rigid. _"My broom.."_ his mind flashed instantly to the night on the pitch, new bits of memory he hadn't recalled before resurfacing, painfully clear in his mind; _the cold air, the cold hands making him shiver, the tall shadow figure looming over him.. the broom handle...his _own_ broom handle... flying down…shining pain…blinding darkness. He couldn't breathe, he was choking on blood.  
_

"Harry!"

Draco's hands on his shoulders shaking him, loud voice and frantic eyes bringing him back to reality. Reality.. yes. The Room of Requirement, with Draco. Safe…

He all but fell forward onto Draco, the blonde pulling him back onto the couch and wrapping him in the blanket.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… Do you want to stay here? You can, I mean. I'll stay too, if you want. It might be best…"

Harry nodded, clutching tightly to Draco, trembling all over. Draco could only stare blankly at the top of his head, rubbing Harry's back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He felt the couch changing again beneath him, shifting so there was no longer and armrest digging into his back, his feet no longer cramped awkwardly against the cushion.

Something he'd said.. something had scared Harry, made him remember, if the glazed over look of terror in his eyes was anything to go by. Draco sighed, yet again. What was happening to him? Where was the cold, heartless Slytherin bastard he'd always been? Why was he suddenly feeling compelled to apologize for words he would have been proud of just a year before? And what was this constant, acerbic ache right in the center of his chest? It couldn't.. no. It couldn't be… _empathy_. Absolutely not.

"_Oh fuck it all…_"

He vaguely thought to himself, tucking Harry's slightly shaking form against his side and pulling the blanket over them before closing his eyes. Even if he was finding his hatred flagging and his regard for propriety all but gone, it was too late now. After everything he had seen and heard and felt there was no going back. No matter how their strange new relationship worked out in the end, there was no way they could ever go back to _exactly_ as they were before. How could _anyone_ go back to wanting to see someone bleeding and dying in front of them when they _had _seen it, _and_ risked their own arse to save the twit! It just couldn't be done.

Draco had to physically shake his head to clear it. There were simply too many opposing thoughts vying for his attention, and he was bone-deep tired. Harry was already snoring, and tomorrow was going to be his own personal very difficult day. Draco shifted a little to his side, and in the process found his face pressed in soft black vanilla hair, lower lip grazing Harry's forehead. He jolted a little, turning his head and wiping his mouth on his shoulder. The scent refused to fade, though- it was everywhere, and it was making him a little light headed. Shaken but too tired to give it much more thought, Draco finally joined his once-enemy in blessedly dreamless sleep.


	15. The Truth Serum

Harry woke late the next day, blinking dazedly at his surroundings. The sun was blaring through the sole window of the room, making it painfully bright and again, he seemed to have fallen asleep somewhere that lacked bed hangings. He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head and rolling over, only to be met by the all too familiar sound of parchment tearing amongst sheets. He bolted upright, regretting the sudden movement as vertigo washed over him. Still, he groped around blindly until his hand closed around the slightly ripped wad of paper. He fell back to the mattress and lay panting for a moment, hoping if he squeezed his eyes shut tightly enough the colors dancing behind them might go away. When they didn't he opted to stare blearily at the crumpled, smeared scrawl. It read:

_Harry-_

_If you don't recall, you're in the Room of Requirement. I left earlier to go talk to Dumbledore, I'm also telling him you won't be in classes today, so don't bother running about like mad when you realize you've overslept. After yesterday you need some rest. If you're still interested in having me help you get caught up on your work, meet me in the entryway after dinner- we can walk over to the library. Try to get some rest until then- you'll need it tonight._

_-DM_

_PS… Don't forget our deal. I'll know if you break it._

_PPS.. Your glasses are on the mantle. The furniture kept moving around, I figured it was the safest place._

Harry stared blankly at the parchment for a moment, unsure what to make of it. He'd fallen asleep last night in the Room of Requirement. Fallen asleep with _Draco Malfoy,_ only to wake up to a friendly, almost _sweet_ note. Malfoy was doing... favors... for him. The "Try to get some rest until then- you'll need it tonight" made Harry a little anxious at first, and he was pretty sure a very different voice had breathed that against the back of his neck in the not-so-distant past. He shuddered and firmly pushed the thought away as he felt around for that red plush blanket he'd had the night before. He was _freezing._ And their deal? What- oh. Food. Harry stuck his tongue out in distaste at the very thought of having to eat again already. He'd just had _three_ sandwiches a few hours ago. Why did Malfoy even _care_. Draco _Malfoy_, his long time rival whom he hated deeply. Hated. Yes.. right? Burying himself back underneath the covers, Harry groaned yet again, the sound muffled by the pillow which, he realized with much annoyance, still smelled like Draco. Another louder, frustrated groan as he rolled quickly away from the infected pillow, only to land on the floor with a heavy, bone jarring thud. He yelped, suddenly painfully aware that he had forgotten to take his potions the night before. Pomfrey was going to _kill_ him. Ow. His newly re-injured arse was likely going to kill him first, though.

"_Bloody_ _hell_."

This was the mantra that Harry mumbled to himself as he hauled himself off the floor and stumbled over to the mantle for his glasses. He repeated it again in varying combinations as he searched for his shoes, gathered his Invisibility Cloak and began the journey back to the Tower. It was the exclamation, along with a string of other lovely expletives, that he yelled when he discovered Gryffindor Tower empty and his bedside clock told him it was past one o'clock in the _afternoon_. It was also the repeated, resigned whisper that ghosted out under his breath as he wandered hesitantly down seven flights of stairs to the kitchens below the Great Hall. It was the slightly self-disgusted, but mostly grateful mutter that silenced when plates of sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice were set out before him by an eager, if nervous, Dobby and he realized how hungry he really was.

Several ham and cheese sandwiches later Harry found his eyes were drooping and his anger had completely vanished. The urge to beat something to a bloody pulp had slowly subsided as he'd experienced the joys of food and a calm, content sense of anticipation overcame him as he realized that for the first time in over a week he could actually go sleep in his own bed.

However, once he was ensconced in those wonderful bed hangings and wrapped in his own sheets (not to mention the red blanket he'd nicked from the Room of Requirement), he found all he could do was... _think_.

"_I'm going insane_."

He mused bitterly, rubbing his eyes.

"_That's the only explanation for it. I must be losing my mind."_

The blanket, resting just beneath his chin, was so soft that Harry found himself absently nuzzling into it as he mentally berated himself. It was warm though, and smelled so _nice_ that for a moment all concerns for his sanity melted away. And then it occurred to him that the nice smell was vaguely familiar. With a jolt, he realized the blanket his face was buried in smelled like _Malfoy_. However, instead of his earlier disgust at finding himself in contact with a Malfoy-infected object, at the moment it was a little... comforting.

"_Okay, that's terrifying. I think _Malfoy_ smells _comforting_?" _Harry shook himself in severe distaste. He did not, however, remove his face from the blanket.

_ "How can I not _care_ that he's treating me like a.. like... well, like a bloody _girl_?" _Harry sighed. "_But I don't care. I don't even care that he's Malfoy. I guess I'm just… glad he's helping me_."

Harry smiled somewhat bitterly into the dark, but he couldn't stay upset about it for very long. Apart from the occasional outbursts Malfoy had actually been... nice. Really nice. Not only had he saved Harry's _life_, he'd pledged to help him seek _justice_. Then Malfoy had _hugged_ him. _On several occasions_. Harry was not even going to _think_ about the piggy-back ride up to Gryffindor Tower the day before, or the fact that Malfoy had chosen (more than once) to punish him with _tickling_ instead of pommeling. The bottom line was, Malfoy was acting like he might actually care, just the slightest bit, whether or not Harry keeled over and died. Yes, that certainly was a peculiar development, the kind of thing usually reserved for strange nightmares and alternate realities. In perspective with everything else, though, it didn't seem quite so strange.

Really, his two best mates all but ignoring him was something he never thought he'd live to see either, even if they did have decent reasons. But Ron as Seeker? Hermione as Potion's assistant? Now that was bollocks. Draco at least was still Draco- he knew just what to say to cut you to the core, and still lost his temper very easily. Except, now he was _apologizing_ when he did it to Harry, and doing it to others _on his behalf_. Weird. But yeah, Malfoy's sudden interest in playing the hero was by far the _least_ strange occurrence on a long list of ways in which Harry's life had recently been turned upside down. For now, he would simply enjoy whatever time he had with the Malfoy formerly known as "evil bouncing ferret". Eventually his life would return to normal and they would go back to bitter, cutting jibes. Ron would realize he was pants at playing Seeker and Snape would toss Hermione out on her know-it-all arse. It was all temporary, so if he happened to be enjoying Malfoy's company a bit more than he should be then chalk it up to post traumatic stress disorder- it would pass, so there wasn't much use worrying about it. He might as well enjoy what he did have while he could, he decided.

As Harry was drifting slowly to sleep, cocooned in warm blankets and distantly pondering the recent turn of events, Draco was at last stumbling down the spiraling staircase leading out of Dumbledore's office. He had been wrong in his assumption that today would simply be a quick update on when the potion would be complete, or even to inform him Snape had changed his mind about brewing it. The Veritaserum was still pounding sluggishly in his veins, making him feel dizzy and light headed like it never had. Of course he'd been subjected to it before; Malfoys, after all, and Slytherins in general really, were certainly not known for being truthful. The drowsiness, the heaviness, the feeling of watching from outside one's own body; these symptoms he was familiar with. The the nausea, the cold sweat prickling on the back of his neck and the way the stairs were weaving before his eyes; these were the things that concerned him. Strangest of all, however, were the flashes of picture and memory that kept replaying themselves in his mind. Typically after taking Veritaserum he'd experienced brief, mild amnesia. However, all he could see in his mind, over and over, were some of the strange things he'd witnessed lately, such as Charlie's bite and the inscrutable sidelong glares Snape had been sending him for the past week. Most notably, though, were the awkward moments with Potter; frozen images that seemed alien in their tenderness. One in particular from the night before- Harry dozing peacefully against Draco's chest, his own face buried in the other boy's hair- showed a flash of genuine intimacy that he _certainly _did _not_ remember being there at the time. Dumbledore hadn't seemed to sense anything out of place, though. Supposedly Snape had discovered a phial of Veritaserum in the back of his storage cabinet leftover from Umbridge's inquisition days and with the difficulty Dumbledore was having keeping knowledge of Harry's attack inside the school they had opted to procede as quickly as possible. Snape had administered the serum, as Draco had requested, and with some horse faced, red haired boy from the Ministry (Draco was getting the sneaking suspicion that he might be yet _another_ Weasely) transcribing the proceedings, Dumbledore had asked the necessary questions. Snape, however…

Snape had been quiet. Still and silent, watching with great interest through the entire procedure but refusing to intervene- so untypical in affairs that concerned his prize pupil's health. But then again, Draco supposed he wasn't teacher's pet anymore. Somehow the stinking Mudblood had taken his place, stolen his spotlight…

Then, of course, was the fact that Snape was likely furious at him for saving Potter. If anyone besides his father and the Dark Lord knew what Draco's mission was going to be it was Snape, and if that cutting glare was anything to go by he was royally buggering himself. That, of course, led into the paranoia (another classic symptom), and Draco began to fear perhaps Snape's allegiances had wandered closer to the Dark Lord than he had realized.

Vaguely, for a fleeting moment, Draco wondered if perhaps Snape had drugged him. The thought of Snape accidentally poisoning him seemed near impossible, but he certainly would not be surprised if the Dark Lord had discovered his betrayal and ordered Snape to kill him. Or at least inflict an appropriate punishment. Draco had been almost certain that Snape, like himself, was playing both sides of the fence equally, but even if Snape hadn't meant to harm him, couldn't someone have used the Imperious curse to make him add potentially harmful ingredients to the potion after it was already bottled? It wouldn't take more than a drop of pure essence of Belladonna, or Aconite, or any number of other very dangerous ingredients- none of which would leave any odor, taste or visible evidence to the inky black-licorice flavored potion. But this was just the paranoia. He'd experienced it countless times as a child- it would pass in an hour or so. Then again, though, with everything as strange as it had been lately, a good old-fashioned poisoning wouldn't have seemed out of place.

"Stupid Snape.. better not have sodding _poisoned_ me. If I die, I'm going to be so pissed off…"

Draco thought to himself rather disjointedly as he collapsed into his own bed back in the Slytherin dormitories, darkness claiming him instantly. He was by far too exhausted to question his current state further. Even when the images continued to flash through his mind he did not struggle or question. He merely submitted to the strange dreams that followed, his mind tracing repeating patterns of a pale, arched back, trembling hands, green eyes. Nightmares of tears and dreams of smiles, all tinged in black silk and vanilla. Needless to say, Draco's sleep was very fitful and left his sheets soaked in sweat and tangled.

When Draco did at last wake again, he found his room as pitch black as it had been from within the sanctuary of his bed hangings, save for a clock across the room belonging to Blaise, the numbers charmed to show up even in the dark. The elaborate time-piece read 6:48, and Draco felt a wave of vertigo overtake him that was equaled only by the flash of panic that had him bolting upright. Dark… it was dark, almost seven o'clock. Was it morning or night? It must be night. Wait, what time did the sun come up? How long had he been asleep? The room seemed to tilt as Draco stood, still fully clothed from earlier, and he began digging around for his shoes. It must be night, he decided, for the familiar snores were all missing. His roommates must still be at dinner… dinner, over in ten minutes. He was supposed to meet Potter… shit…

The walk from the dungeons to the Great Hall was a brisk one. Draco's feet continually prompted him to break into a full run, but his throbbing head protested, and he found himself gripping the wall as he walked to help maintain his balance. Was this how Potter had been feeling?

"_Shit_…"

He thought to himself as he gripped the wall tighter. Running long pale fingers through sleep mussed blonde hair, he watched as herds of students poured from the Great Hall. The entryway was empty. Perhaps Potter was still in the Great Hall? He stumbled in when at last the doors had cleared. He tried to look casual, as if his vision didn't keep drifting and swaying like he was looking at the world through water. He glanced around, taking in the long, empty tables, the last straggling Hufflepuffs rushing past him, arms loaded with books.

"_He must have gone on to the library without me…_"

Draco's jaw clenched as the last of the plates were cleared from the table, his stomach loudly growling its distress. He'd missed dinner, but he was already late. No time, he had to hurry.

He turned quickly on his heel (and regretted it), rushing off towards the library at a near run, dizziness and hunger be damned. He was in such a hurry he missed the giggling Hufflepuff third years that pointed at his bedraggled blonde hair and the terrified shrieks of two first year Ravenclaw girls as he snarled at them dangerously. He didn't hear Pansy calling after him asking where he'd been all day, nor did he see the freckled red head and his bushy haired companion as he pushed by, sending yet another armful of books tumbling to the ground to a symphony of indignant cries. So intent was Draco on reaching his destination that he didn't even feel the pair of cold, black, alien eyes that followed after his retreating form as he at last flung open the doors to the library.

Harry had not gone on ahead without him though, as Draco soon discovered. In fact, apart from the ever present, ever annoying Madam Pince and a few lower year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, the library was empty. Draco's first response to this was the trademark Malfoy sneer, which cracked icily across his face like second nature. Anger flared hot inside him, making his pale silver eyes gleam coldly and his ruffled hair looked suddenly more intimidating than humorous.

Stupid.. Stupid Potter. Oh, of all the nerve. Him, a Malfoy, being stood up by that rotten little twat! Draco's anger simmered, growing quickly to a full, roaring boil as it occurred to him he'd run from his dormitory without even so much as brushing his hair or stopping to eat, just to meet _Potter_. Stupid, idiotic Gryffindor!

Draco huffed, sinking bitterly into a chair towards the back of the library anf sending several Hufflepuff boys scrambling to move their essays and books out of the line of fire. Draco paid them no mind however. His anger and bitterness only continued to grow unchecked, spreading through his body like wildfire, making his fingers itch to hex something or someone. Preferably Potter. Wounded pride was, without a doubt, the worst injustice Draco felt a Malfoy could be done, and oh, if Potter were there just then, he'd…

As if they'd been awaiting their cue, the library doors burst open, banging back loudly against the walls to admit a whirlwind of black and red and gold. Madam Pince was instantly on her feet and barreling towards the flurry of movement that Draco had, after a moment, realized was none other than Potter. Harry was, without a doubt, far more rumpled looking than Draco was himself, and the blonde silently mused that the Gryffindor looked as if he'd been stuffed under a rock for a week or so. Draco smirked with a devilish sort of self satisfaction at this.

Harry had stopped just inside the door, eyes darting frantically from table to table, finally catching on Malfoy near the back of the room and locking gazes. Their brief staring contest, however, gave enough time for the irate librarian to catch Harry, grabbing him sharply by the ear and twisting, releasing a quietly hissed tirade upon the Boy-Who-Lived. In the span it took for Madam Pince to huff and puff herself hoarse and Harry to plead and apologize adequately enough to be allowed to stay, Draco's anger had slowed back to a low simmer.

He watched, with a detached sense of annoyance, as Harry hurried over to the back table, sending the Hufflepuff boys scattering in a way he himself had not been able to. This fact only served to irritate Draco further, and when Harry sat down and looked up with apologetic eyes he was met only by a pronounced snarl from the Slytherin.

"I'm.. umm… sorry I'm late."

Harry offered hopefully. Malfoy simply bared his perfectly straight white teeth.

"Too busy, Saint Potter? Got caught up saving the world and all, I suppose. Couldn't be bothered with the likes of a plebeian like myself…"

His words were harsh and bitter and Harry winced, a deep blush staining his cheeks and tinting his ears a vibrant pink.

"No… I.. I was sleeping, I overslept. I ran down as fast as I could, but.. I ran into Charlie, and…I'm sorry."

Harry whispered, eyes falling to study a small hole in the knee of his trousers as he mentally cursed himself for pissing Malfoy off and thus fucking up yet another friendship. He was so engrossed in both the hole in his trousers, and his own self-pity that he completely missed seeing Draco go rigid in his seat, eyes widening as the glint of anger was snuffed out completely.

"Charlie? As in… Weasely's older brother?"

Harry's brow furrowed and he looked up.

"Umm… yeah, how'd you know?"

Draco paled considerably.

"Doesn't matter… what happened? What did he say to you?"

Harry thought Draco's voice had gone rather hoarse, and he jumped when the blonde leaned forward and roughly grabbed him by one shoulder, shaking him a little.

"Ahh.. Draco, let go. Why do you-" One look at Draco's face cut off any questions he might have had regarding Draco's sudden interest. "He.. he said some stuff.. 'bout potions, and Snape. He asked how I was doing with the makeup work. I told him I was on my way here because you're helping me with that Euphoria Elixir I have to make up later this week and… well, he looked at me kinda weird, like he tried to smile but it didn't come out right or something and he said… well, he said I should hurry along and practice. That.. that he'd love to see me and Snape go at it."

Harry's jaw set awkwardly, and Draco by then had leaned in close enough he could hear it pop as the Gryffindor began chewing his split lower lip. The press of white teeth into the red, swollen flesh drew Draco's attention away from the matter at hand and his eyes narrowed.

"How did you get this?"

He asked, thumb brushing lightly just below the red, angry looking cut. Harry merely winced a little and turned a deeper shade of red, pulling away.

"I… I fell, when I ran into Charlie. I must have hit my lip. I didn't notice…"

Something dramatic shifted in Draco's chest and the roaring anger he'd felt only moments before was replaced with a deep, gnawing worry that licked at the inside of his gut like cold flames.

"Harry… what happened?"

Draco's hand fell from Harry's face to gently grasp his hand, and Harry jumped back a little to have the other boy staring at him so intently, touching him so casually. He looked nervously from the blonde in front of him to the rest of the library, anxious that someone might see them and get the wrong idea.

"I had another dream... nightmare. Like the others. Only it was stronger this time. It felt so real, and when I woke up it was just… I, guess I must have bit my lip…"

The Gryffindor trailed off, tongue darting out to absently trace the cut, probing the valley of flesh that still tasted slightly of blood. Draco's grip on his hand tightened.

"Don't do that. You'll make it reopen."

Harry's eyes met his own and Draco fought the urge to pull Harry into a hug. The emotion there made the usually bright green eyes look dark and misty and Draco reminded himself he'd never cared what Hufflepuffs thought anyway, pulling Harry against him. Harry still felt overly warm and he went stiff for a moment before relaxing and bringing his hands up to clutch the wrinkled fabric of Draco's robes. Draco could feel the quick, panicky breath against his throat catch and gradually slow to normal, the slight tremors ebb slowly away as Harry relaxed, and he couldn't help but wonder again how such touching was beginning to come so naturally. What was _wrong_ with him? No, it wasn't him, he didn't like the physical contact. It was Harry… _Potter_ needed the reassurance, and there was no one else to give it just then. That's all.

"Draco…"

Harry's voice ghosted against his ear, bringing him back to the present with a shiver. He scowled.

"Yes, Potter?"

Draco tried to sound stern, but he could have sworn he felt a wide, gentle smile bloom against the side of his throat.

"Can we start with Transfiguration? McGonagall said I've only got three days to make up the exam I missed, and when I tried to turn my white rose into a rabbit, I ended up with a.. heh… a ferret, instead. A ferret with leaves for ears, and thorns on its tail"

Draco pulled back from the hug enough to glare at the unkempt Gryffindor that was smiling at him lopsidedly. He tried to sneer, or snarl, but the thought of Harry trying to restrain a thorny ferret was very comical indeed, and they both broke out in fits of laughter, much to the annoyance of Madam Pince.


	16. The Quidditch Pitch

Initially, Harry hated the study sessions.

He had only missed one day worth of the potions Madam Pomfrey had given him, but it set his recovery back far more than he was willing to let on. By Wednesday morning the pain was near unbearable again and he was having a very difficult time breathing, let alone concentrating- just the _thought_ of classes made his chest close up and his heart stutter in his ears. He had no choice, though. He knew from experience that the longer he waited the farther behind he would fall, so each night that week he met Malfoy in the library after dinner. The hardest part, Harry decided, was how very like Hermione Malfoy could be when it came to studying; he was patient, thorough and refused to let go a subject until he was absolutely certain Harry understood. In many ways this was good. Despite Harry's struggling health he managed, mostly thanks to Draco's help, to catch up in all but Transfiguration by the end of the week. The downside, of course, was that every time Draco corrected one of his rune translations or reprimanded him for falling asleep on his History of Magic text Harry would jump and glance around bewilderdly, expecting to see Ron rolling his eyes or Hermione's ink-smudged face smiling patiently at him. Instead Draco would jump too, and they would look at each other for a moment as if they were both unable to believe who was sitting in front of them. Then Harry would usually blush and look away, and Draco would either snarl or frown, depending on how disappointed Harry had looked to see him.

As the days melted into weeks, though, something began to change. Even after Harry had caught up on his schoolwork they seemed to find themselves in the library together every night; they always began their work independently, more or less ignoring the other's presence, but eventually something innocuous would trigger a comment, or a question, and once the debates began even Madam Pince was powerless to quiet them. Slowly, Draco began to realize that quite contrary to what he'd previously thought, Harry was... well, he _wasn't_ as daft as Draco had believed him to be, that was certain. Not even when it came to potions. Though Harry would clearly never be a Master he had a basic, core understanding of potion theory and a clumsy understanding of the ingredients and their purposes. More than Draco could say for most of their year, at any rate. Snape's constant criticism, he decided, must be founded on _other_ principals. Draco tried very hard to avoid thoughts like that, though. He was more interested in the way Potter's startled, disappointed looks were beginning to give way to shy smiles and muffled laughter, despite the fact that if anything Weasely and Granger had become even busier. On rare occasions the infuriating duo would come and drag Harry away with fake excuses and huge smiles, and Draco would stare after them in disgust, pointedly looking away when Harry threw a sheepish grin over his shoulder. Occasionally they wouldn't speak for a few days after such incidents, but eventually an evening would come when one would stumble upon the other hidden away in the Room of Requirement, sitting awake and alone long after friends and dorm mates had fallen asleep. They were often quiet through these nights as well, though it was a markedly more companionable sort of silence.

As November faded with the dying autumn leaves and the heavy rains began to turn to sleet, Hogwarts at last seemed to return to some semblance of order. After the nightmare preceding Harry's mysterious split lip the dreams slowly, to his immense relief, began to taper off, becoming both weaker and less frequent. It was around that time that Snape abruptly returned to berating Harry (as well as stealing points from Gryffindor at any possible opportunity), and a few days later Charlie returned to Romania to check up on a brood of newly hatched dragon eggs. Ron and Hermione, seemingly even busier with their new positions, were seeking Harry out less and less, but to his surprise Harry found himself beginning to feel slightly thankful for their preoccupation; it meant he could at last have some time to himself without their overenthusiastic questions regarding his health and their constant bragging over their respective titles.

Thus it was that Harry could be found on Saturday, the twenty-seventh of November, curled comfortably in an armchair beside the fire in the Gryffindor common room with a muggle novel propped on his knee and a cup of warm cider cradled in his hands.

Nearly an hour earlier the common room had emptied out, his housemates loudly pushing each other around and yelling excitedly about the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match that was scheduled to start at eleven o'clock that morning. Outside it was a fairly mild day, and while such a break in the otherwise relentless cold and wet would usually have merited time spent outdoors, Harry had refused. For his part Draco had accepted this fact readily, if not rather reluctantly. Both boys had developed an unspoken understanding that Harry did not wish to go anywhere near the Pitch, and that the subject of Quidditch was to be left alone, especially when Ron was involved in any way. So of course Draco hadn't been surprised that morning after breakfast when Harry had not-so-casually mentioned how _nice_ it was going to be to have the common room to himself that morning, and how _good_ it would be to finally catch up on his reading. The hint had been easy enough to take- however, Draco was having an increasingly difficult time trying to pretend it didn't matter. He stood in the entryway with Harry for a long moment, staring down at the other boy with pale, inscrutable eyes. The front doors had been propped wide for the stream of students pouring out around them, and the chilly draft it let in made Harry shiver. At least, that's what he assured himself was to blame for the goosepimples breaking out across the back of his neck. Just the memory of those eyes made him shiver, though, despite the warmth of the common room and the softness of the red blanket tucked around him.

A loud pounding at the portrait hole promptly broke Harry from his silent reverie. Brow furrowed, his eyes darted up to the clock above the mantel; not even noon yet. Everyone should still be at the game. Who on earth would be knocking?

The loud pounting was relentless, though, and through the walls the Fat Lady could be heard squealing indignantly about portrait abuse.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, just a second…"

Harry reluctantly marked his page and pulled himself from the chair, trudging over and jerking the portrait open.

"Yes, can I help y-"

A pale hand fastened itself securely to the front of Harry's robes, dragging him forcibly from the common room before he'd even managed to complete his sentence. Harry tumbled out gracelessly and nearly went crashing to his knees when he missed the step between the portrait and the hall floor. As he tried to regain his footing Harry caught a brief glimpse of blonde hair and then there was a loud, wet thud as a mud-caked boot kicked the portrait shut behind them. Harry had finally found his footing but was still grappling with the vertigo when the hand grabbed him once more, though this time by the arm, and hauled him along down the hall at a pace which was a little too quick for Harry's noodley legs.

"Wh.. Malfoy? Bloody hell, what's gotten into you? Let me go…"

Harry squirmed and tried to break free, but to no avail- his attempts at resistance only distracted him enough that he missed a raised stone in the floor, catching his foot on it and stumbling forward. His feet scrambled for purchase and his arms flailed in an ungainly manner, but his balance was already thrown. Amidst aggravated curses and exasperated hisses an arm snaked itself around Harry's waist and the Gryffindor found himself half carried the last meter to the Room of Requirement despite his colorful protests.

Inside, the Room of Requirement was nothing like Harry had ever seen it before. Past the familiar door was a long hall that ended abruptly with a large hole in both the floor and the ceiling, through which ran a spiraling staircase not unlike the one leading to Dumbledore's office. Except, of course, for the fact that when Draco dragged him onto the steps and yelled "Ice Mice-_deorsum_" they began spiraling slowly _down_ instead of up. Whatever staircase it may have been, though, it was moving in painfully slow, jerky circles and Harry found himself groping unsteadily at the wall in absence of a railing.

"What the bloody _hell_ has gotten into you, Malfoy?"

Harry's head was beginning to spin from the sudden change of scenery and the revolutions of the stairs but he grabbed Draco none the less harshly and turned the other boy to face him. Annoyed green eyes locked onto grey so icy Harry couldn't be sure they hadn't frozen over, and he found himself shivering through both jumper and robe.

"This.."

Draco extended his hand to Harry, uncurling his fingers to reveal a glint of gold. Harry didn't even need a second look to know what it was. His eyes shot up instantly, darkness bursting in those vibrant green eyes like whirlwinds of hurt and anger, suspicion and fear.

"_No_."

Such betrayal in that one word. Draco opened his mouth to continue, but Harry wouldn't hear it.

"Malfoy, no. I told you… just, no. What do you think you're doing?"

It was more of a warning than a question and Harry backed up a step, eyes fixedly avoiding the golden ball. Draco's other hand snapped out to stop any further retreat, catching Harry's wrist as he slowly shook his head.

"No, Potter. I'm done playing this game. I've let you hide long enough, and now you're going to face it. We're going to the Pitch. It's _Quidditch_, for Merlin's sake. Don't you remember? Your favorite game? Remember your Firebolt, Harry? Your broom, neglected and dirty there in the shed?"

"_Dirty,"_ Harry's mind repeated with a shudder. His broom...

Harry felt dizzy as Draco gripped his wrist harder, leaning in closer, though he told himself it was merely the constant, slow circular motion of the stairs that made his heart pound heavily in his ears and his stomach feel sick and quivery. He was so _dizzy_... he felt like his was going to be ill.

"No.. _fuck_.. Draco stop, I can't… leave me alone. It doesn't matter anymore. Ron's seeker.. it doesn't matter.."

He tried to pull back, squeezing his eyes shut tight but Draco's grip only tightened.

"That fucking Weasel? Look at this Harry…"

The cold, steady voice was rising despite Draco's obvious attempts to remain calm and suddenly something round and hard and slightly slippery was in his hands and he looked and there was the Snitch. Harry's jaw hung open dumbly and this time he couldn't look away. One wing had been ripped off almost entirely, the other crushed beyond any chance of repair, though it still fluttered desperately. The pristine gold surface was scratched and scuffed and dented terribly, the patterned grooves filled with what looked like a mixture of dirt and blood. Harry pulled his hand back as if burned but the Snitch didn't fall right away, its one wing beating furiously to stay airborne as it spiraled and sunk lower into Draco outstretched hand.

"Look at the Snitch, Harry. Your Snitch. Look what he did. Do you want to know what happened?"

Harry was shaking his head fervently, trying to back away but Draco just squeezed tighter and kept talking.

"I caught the Snitch five minutes in. That _Weasel_ was across the Pitch; he didn't even _see_ it. He didn't even realize I'd caught it until Hooch blew the whistle. And then, that fucking bastard accused _me_ of cheating! He tried to steal the Snitch right out of my hand, Harry. He couldn't just admit he'd lost, he went _mad_. But I wouldn't let the Snitch go. He doesn't _deserve_ to hold it, Harry, _you_ do."

Draco released his hold on Harry's wrist, and Harry felt something decidedly wet and sticky lingering there. He didn't realize what it was until Draco clutched his hand to his chest with a wince, looking rather dizzy and queasy himself. Harry realized with a jolt that Draco was either stupider, or more stubborn than he'd ever imagined. His breath caught in his throat.

"Bugger, Malfoy.. How..? You've gotta go see Pomfrey…"

It seemed like there was blood everywhere all of a sudden, so much he couldn't even see the cuts themselves. Harry wondered how he'd missed all the blood before, but realized Malfoy hadn't given him much time to notice much of anything.

Draco tried to laugh, or sneer, or even smile- something, _anything_ to distract from how truly miserable he was begginning to feel as his anger and adrenaline began to leak out onto his shoes.

"Snitch wings… wicked fast, and just as sharp apparently. They're shallow though, just a lot of blood. I'm fine…"

Truthfully, Harry thought he looked about ready to pass out, his mind conveniently supplying the memory of their talk a month prior when Draco had admitted to being squeamish about blood.

They were nearing the bottom of the moving staircase by then. Later, in retrospect, Harry would blame it all on his lightheadedness after the long ride, or his own queasiness at the sight of all that blood, but he quickly reached for the hem of his robe, ripping off a chunk that was probably larger than necessary and clenching it in his teeth while he gingerly removed the remnants of Draco's shreded glove. Harry tried to think of a charm to clean the wounds or slow the bleeding, but upon realizing he'd left his wand up on the table in the common room he simply took the cloth from his teeth and wrapped it firmly around Draco's hand, which was dripping quite freely on the floor by then. Draco could only stare in disbelief as the other boy tied off the makeshift bandage, his injured hand cradled carefully between Harry's own. Uncertain green eyes slowly rose to look up at him- sadly, imploringly, and both boys were vaguely aware that the world around them had stopped spinning. It took them both a moment to realize it was because they had at last reached the bottom of the staircase. A long moment of silence ensued, tense and heavy and awkward and Harry quickly looked away, hands falling to his sides to duck into the pockets of his robes. When Draco did at last break the silence his voice had lost all hints of anger and his eyes looked pained.

"Harry... please. Please try. I'll help, I swear, and… we won't push it, or anything. But try, just come down to the Pitch with me. Try flying again. Don't you remember what it's like? That feeling of freedom? Remember what it's like to catch the Snitch? Weasley isn't meant to play, Harry; _you_ are. Seeker is your position. _Yours_, Harry! This is how much that Weasel cares about any of it…"

The anger that had fueled Draco earlier was returning, but none of it was directed at Harry anymore. How could it be? But Harry had to understand. Draco uncurled the clenched fingers of his non-bloody hand to expose the Snitch once more, now deathly still, and though he was beginning to feel that pang of guilt again he knew he had to. He knew it would be worth it. Harry could only stare blankly for a long time, first at Draco, then at the Snitch, before squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His teeth worried his bottom lip, but at last he gave a terse nod.

~*~

As it turned out, the strange spiraling staircase was the very same that led to Dumbledore's office- hence the use of the current Headmaster's password, "Ice Mice," plus _deorsum, _or "to move down" in Latin. According to Draco it was possible to access the staircase, which led to a massive internal network of cooridors, mazes and catacombs that even the Marauders had been oblivious to, by means of a hidden entrance on each floor of the castle. On their way to the Pitch, Draco explained it was sort of a quick flush system built into the school in case of an attack or emergency so that students could be evacuated secretly from the grounds. The dark, confusing labyrinth they entered next was another defense tactic, Draco claimed, which was designed to confuse anyone who might try to use the passage for ill purpose. It also made following escaping students much more difficult. When questioned about his knowledge of such things, Draco had simply flashed one of the most snobbish, self-righteous smirks Harry had ever borne witness to, stating with no little pride that as a child of noble breeding he would of course be privy to such information. A sharp poke in the side and an unimpressed look from Harry had Draco rather sheepishly conceding he'd overheard a conversation between Dumbledore and Snape a few years back discussing the tunnels in light of the brewing War. Getting in had been easy enough, Draco bragged, but with an abashed grin he eventually confessed that it had then taken him three days to find his way back out.

They both shared a laugh at that, but for the most part Harry remained silent throughout their walk. He was happy to listen to Draco prattle on about all the Hogwarts secrets he had discovered over the years, letting the other boy's expressive, drawling tone distract him from thoughts of their ultimate destination. Harry couldn't have cared less about the history of the tunnels, but it was enough to draw his mind away from the task at hand- what he'd actually agreed to do. The suddenness of it all gave him little time to worry, and by the time Draco led him up the last step of the dim corridor and pushed open the trap door hidden beneath the floorboards of the broom shed it was too late to turn back.

~*~

The bottom line: Draco had expected Harry to panic. Perhaps when the Gryffindor first realized they were inside the broom shed by the Pitch. Maybe when Draco grabbed Harry's Firebolt and his own Nimbus 2001. If nothing else, Draco expected the Golden-Boy to bolt when he opened the rickety, splintered door to reveal the long expanse of perfectly green (if very muddy) grass, and the blue sky darkening steadily with thick clouds overhead. But he didn't. Harry just stared for a moment before he began mucking blindly towards the stands, leaving Draco to squelch uncertainly through the mud a ways behind him. Harry was moving slowly, dream-like towards the stadium entrance, and then he just stood there, exactly where he had stood panting in the dark little over a month prior. He tilted his head back to stare detatchedly at the three hoops above him, so very high up, and then back down to the banners dancing in the breeze beside them.

"Harry?"

Draco was a little nervous- he had been so prepared for outright panic that the silence was unnerving. Harry did not respond, though. All he could do was _remember_. Not the memories he had been dreading of that horrible night, but of _Quidditch._ He had blocked it from his mind almost entirely over the past month, but seeing it all right there before his eyes was... breathtaking. Literally.

Draco's voice was a distant echo in his mind, unreal and insignificant next to the smell of fresh air and grass and mud. The wind stung his face, and it was so strong that for a moment he thought he might blow over. The fact that his knees already felt as if they were about to give out certainly wasn't helping. Suddenly, the edges of Harry's vision began to darken, and his shoulders tensed as he sensed someone closing in behind him, closer, almost right up against his back. He shook off the brief grip of terror, though. The sun was dancing warm on his face through fast moving clouds and it was _Draco_ behind him now, a gentle, familiar touch at his lower back that steadied him. Yes, safe. That horrible night was over and, for the moment at least, it didn't matter. Other memories were vying for his attention. Memories of past games. Triumphs, losses, fights- every moment he'd spent on the Pitch seemed to flash quickly in his mind: the sense of wonder the first time the Snitch fluttered to life in his hands. His very first game. The humiliation of spitting up that same Snitch in front of the entire school, but the pride that quickly replaced it when he realized he had done it. He had _won._ His fury when Malfoy had unfairly made the Slytherin team in their second year. The rogue bludger and his floppy, boneless wrist. His encounter with the Demeantors his third year. The first game he'd ever lost. His broom smashed. Oh, Malfoy's prank! That had been so petty, so juvenile- but it had also been the first time he managed to conjure a real patronus, however briefly it had been. Oh, and _Umbridge._ The ban! That had been _Malfoy's_ fault too. Ron had bollocksed it up as Keeper because of _Malfoy's_ stupid song and all his _stupid_ little jibes, and he and Fred and George had been banned from Quidditch when they'd bloodied Malfoy up for it.

A hand on Harry's shoulder caught his attention and there was Malfoy, right in front of him. _Malfoy_. The same Malfoy he'd wanted to pommel senseless... damn, just one year before, to the very month. Except that it _wasn't_ the same Malfoy. This one was gripping his shoulders and shaking him, saying something. He sounded frantic, but it was like he was speaking another language. Harry just stared at him. At his pink cheeks and his bright silver eyes full of worry and the way his eyebrows were drawn up, making him look very startled. Harry stared at Draco for a very long moment, and then he did the only other thing he could; he laughed. The absolute irony of the situation came crashing down on Harry and he was laughing harder than he could ever remember laughing in his life, so hard he couldn't breathe. Five years of hatred, bitterness and ruthless pranks. Five years of Slimy Gits and "Potter Stinks". Five years of fighting tooth and claw on that very ground, only to see the way that Malfoy's eyes had gotten huge and shiny and he was yelling, voice panicked with unmistakable concern. Harry couldn't stop laughing though, it was too much. All the fear and dread and nervous tension, the _irony_, the ridiculousness of the fact that just standing there on the Pitch in broad daylight was somehow supposed to be a huge accomplishment… it was all too much and suddenly tears started to join the laughter, occasionally broken by a sob. So much seemed to be happening, and breathing was quickly getting pushed to the bottom of the list.

Draco realized belatedly that he had, yet again, been wrong. Very wrong. He had expected Harry to panic, but instead _he _was the one fast becoming frantic. Harry had been so calm upon reaching the Pitch that it suddenly seemed as if the past month had never happened. As abruptly as "Potter" had become "Harry" it was like, well... like he was _Potter _again. He hadn't looked small, or scared, or vulnerable or any of the other things that stood out in Draco's mind as being particularly _Harry._ With shoulders squared and Gryffindor robes whipping in the breeze he had looked like Potter again, the figurehead of strength and goodness, and Draco's heart had caught in his throat. He'd felt guilty, at first, breaking the other boy's concentration, but had needed to make sure... had needed to reassure himself he hadn't merely dreamt the many long nights of tears and whispered secrets they'd shared over the past month. Needed to know this was the same Harry that smiled up at him with big, green uncertain eyes. The same Harry that needed to be reminded to eat, and who sucked on the corner of his red blanket when he thought no one was looking. The same Harry who had torn off a chunk of his own robe just to bandage Draco's hand.

That was when things had begun to go sideways. He shouldn't have been standing behind Harry, he realized, because in his effort to give the other boy some privacy he had completely missed what was happening on Harry's face.

The little color Harry had regained over the past few weeks had drained away and his eyes were glazed over, pupils so huge Draco could barely make out the green around them. His lips, usually so very pink, were pale and faintly blue, his mouth open around tiny hitches of breath and shoulders trembling infinitesimally.

"_Harry.._"

Things had been going so well Draco had let himself fall into a false sense of accomplishment. He'd been so _proud_ of himself. Draco had _known_ Harry had just needed to go to the Pitch, to see for himself that everything was fine, and then he would remember how wonderful Quidditch was. Then _Harry_ would be back on the team instead of that stupid, useless Weasel, and then _they_ would fly together. Then things would be like they use to be. Draco had felt such an overwhelming sense of self satisfaction that his plan was working so flawlessly that he hadn't even noticed what was really happening, though. This.. _this_ wasn't part of the plan. Even when he'd anticipated panic, Draco had never imagined this strong of a reaction. Admittedly he had been so caught up in the moment he hadn't really planned much past getting Harry out onto the Pitch. That had seemed a large enough task, and it had all gone accordingly. But Potter.. Harry seemed to be falling apart, right before his eyes. Laughter and sobs and tears were so closely intermingled that Draco was having a hard time discerning which was which as Harry sunk to the mud, rapidly going from white to purple as he pitched forward onto trembling hands and knees.

"Harry, come on.. Snap out of it.."

There was a sick squelching sound as Draco's knees sank into the mud as well and he winced, fairly certain that even a very powerful scouring charm would not be able to salvage his Quidditch trousers after this. It was hard to think about trousers, though, with Harry making those gurgling, choking noises right in front of him. Then there was a wet, suctiony noise and Harry tipped sideways into the mud, landing bonelessly in the grass, shaking and panting. And then it started to rain.

"Shit, Potter… Harry… oh Merlin, come on. Now is _not_ the time for a mental breakdown."

Draco pulled until Harry was laying on his back in the grassy mud, arms limp and useless at his sides, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the hysterical sobs for breath.

"Harry, come on, lets go inside. Just... just sit up. If you can hold on I'll carry you, just... just _come on_."

The rain was coming in fat, heavy drops that stung the back of Draco's neck as he leaned over the other boy. His own breathing was becoming uneven, and panic was making him irrational. His words didn't seem to have any effect, though, and all Draco could think was that somehow he would have to explain to Dumbledore that he had killed Harry Potter by taking him for a walk by the Quidditch Pitch. With this terrifying, though rather illogical thought pounding in his mind Draco redoubled his efforts; he yelled and cursed and shook Harry violently by the shoulders, all to no avail. Not even the icy rain seemed to be getting through to Harry's brain. They were both soaked through by then and Draco was beginning to shiver uncontrollably. If Harry was shivering it was impossible to tell amongst all his other twitches and shudders. Finally, it was sheer desperation and panic that caused Draco to resort to the one possibility he had yet to try, and with that he grasped Harry's flushed, rain-soaked face in his hands and kissed him squarely on the lips.

There was a painful moment of absolute stillness where Draco wondered if perhaps Harry had passed out from shock or lack of oxygen, or maybe both. The rain was falling on them, around them, and the muted pitter-patter of it hitting the grass was the only break in the silence. But then Harry broke the kiss, fingers tangling and clinging to the front of Draco's robes as he coughed and gasped and gulped in huge lung-fulls of air, his head falling back into the mud with a small splash. His vision swam from oxygen deprivation and his chest was burning, but apart from the rain threatening to drown him it felt.... good. Painful, but good.

Relief made Draco's shoulders feel heavy and his movements sluggish, but he managed to help Harry struggle into a sitting position before roughly pulling the quaking boy into his arms, rubbing his back in slow, shaky circles.

"_Merlin_, Harry. You... I.. _bloody hell_. Let's go inside."

Draco cursed himself mentally; for fumbling his words, for the way his own hands were shaking as he pulled Harry closer instead of pushing him away. For the way he was comforting the dark haired boy, but mostly for the fact that this time it was his fault Harry needed comforted at all. Harry shook his head, though, hoarse words muffled in Draco's shoulder. If Harry's face hadn't already been mashed against the side of his own Draco probably wouldn't have heard him at all.

"No, please… I don't want to go back in. Not yet. I'm sorry I scared you."

Draco snorted but tightened his grip slightly when a shudder passed down Harry's spine.

"Have you gone barmy? It's _pouring_. You're soaked. _I'm_ soaked. Besides, I wasn't scared, Potter. I just didn't fancy having to explain to Dumbledore that his Golden-Boy had drowned in his own tears."

Harry said nothing in return, but the feel of soft lips curling into a knowing smile against the skin of his throat was unmistakable, and Draco shivered again. From the cold, of course.

"Come on Harry. I'm serious. We've got to get you back inside. You're bad enough when you're mentally unstable, I can only imagine you with a cold on top of it all."

Draco slipped around a bit in the mud puddle they had churned up, which was fast filling in with rain, but eventually he found his footing. He offered Harry a hand up and the Gryffindor begrudgingly accepted it, swaying slightly on his feet despite the determination in his eyes.

"Alright. But.. can we come back soon?"

Draco looked only slightly less stunned than he felt, stomach dropping at the only word he'd really heard. _We_? As in, the two of them, specifically? He mentally shook himself, no less surprised when his mind finally caught up to the other parts of that question. Harry _wanted_ to come back, _with_ him? Apparently the dark haired boy smiling up at him hopefully was full of even more surprises than he'd previously thought, and Draco couldn't help thinking just then that that damn Gryffindor courage was almost sort of endearing, in a terribly annoying sort of way.

Luckily, Harry was too busy slipping in the mud to notice Draco's thoughtful silence right away, and when he did his only response was a mysterious smile that had the Slytherin's skin prickling all over.

"Fine. There's one condition though."

A challenge was palpable in the air; Draco smugly folded his arms across his ruined Quidditch gear, head cocked to one side.

"Bring it on, Malfoy."

Harry tilted his chin up proudly, shoulders squared, heedless of the fresh smear of mud across his cheek and the stray clumps of freshly trimmed grass matted in his rain-plastered hair.

"Next time,"

Draco moved closer, pealing a muddy leaf from the other boy's robes.

"we actually _fly_."

Harry's eyes went wide and then narrowed, a dangerous smile curling his lip. Draco gave a smirk of his own in reply, wagging his eyebrows audaciously before turning to saunter back towards the broom shed in what would have been a very superior sort of manner had it not been raining and hand the ground not been the consistency of cake batter. What little grace Draco did manage, though, dissolved the moment a handful of mud and grass lobbed him in the back of the head, dripping down the collar of his ruined Quidditch robes in cold, slimy chunks. Needless to say that much, much later a highly incensed Filch could be found scrubbing two pairs of wet, muddy footprints from the seventh floor corridor. Foot prints that seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be coming from a closet filled with extra cleaning supplies.


	17. The Misunderstanding

The chill emanating from the stone floor was so sharp that it ate through the soles of his shoes, seeping into his toes and burrowing up his legs in cold, aching spikes. The steps to his dormitory were hard to see in the dark, but edging up them blindly was a more appealing option than the attention a _lumos_ might draw. The old metal hinges of the door squeaked deafeningly in the silence, but luckily the snores coming from within were even louder. Silent feet padded across the cold flagstones as their owner waded through air that seemed thick and oppressive with questions the sleeping figures were desperate to ask, even while unconscious. The soft slither of fabric rippled through the viscous darkness as spell-scoured, mud-stained Quidditch robes fell to the floor, followed by an equally ruined jumper. Then the sound of buttons, more cloth, and the muffled clink of a belt being unfastened. He inwardly winced at the unavoidable sound of the zipper being drawn down, one tooth at a time, but eventually trousers joined the pile of unsalvageable, amateurly cleaned clothing. Mud caked boots were hastily, but quietly toed off and nudged aside. The wooden bed frame groaned softly despite the considerably slight addition of weight, and silk sheets whispered against skin as they were drawn up. For a long moment he lay silent in the dark, staring at his hand- in the pitch blackness he couldn't see it, but the fingers of his uninjured hand stroked absently over the soft black fabric still tied around it, caked with his own blood and the muck of the Quidditch Pitch. It ached and throbbed, but he smiled. Thus, in the still, quiet darkness of the 6th year Slytherin boys' dormitory, on the evening following the draining events after the Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch game, grey eyes drooped heavily shut…

Only to fly back open almost immediately.

Draco bolted upright in bed.

"_Wait.."_

He clutched the bandaged hand against his chest, heart pounding painfully against it through skin and bone that felt suddenly paper thin.

"_I... I didn't. No."_

Thoughts and memories began to churn themselves over and over in Draco's mind. After the Quidditch game, after he'd dragged Harry down to the Pitch…

"_I wouldn't..."_

...with Harry… he'd…

"_Oh no. Noo no no. Absolutely not. No. Never."_

A dark, heavy sense of dread was creeping into the pit of Draco's stomach, eyes widening in the dark as the memory suddenly slid into focus with a sickening click that seemed to vibrate down his spine and into his stomach.

Earlier.. on the Pitch. Harry had lost it. He'd gone completely hysterical- not breathing- laughing and crying all at once. He wouldn't stop, _couldn't_, and he had.. Draco had…

"_Fuck. No. Please."_

But there was no denying it.

"_I.. did. I actually... Oh bloody _hell_, I **did**!"_

The stealth he'd employed earlier was forgotten, his roommates be damned if they woke up. Draco was out of bed instantly, scrambling for clothes and cloak and shoes, pale limbs a blur of motion in the slight lunar light that lit the room. Looming dread was quickly being replaced with panic and he had to get out, he had to think.. it couldn't be true, and yet it was. He had… he had… _Merlin_. The world seemed to be tilting and he grabbed one of the solid posts of his bed, banging his head against it in helpless, overwhelming frustration.

"_Bugger. I kissed Harry Potter._"

A harsh, hopeless groan under his breath, and the realization had him sprinting from the room, tearing down the stairs and out of the dungeons. The squeaky door slammed in his wake, but it drew only a semi-conscious groan of annoyance from Blaise. Some seven stories above, nestled in his bed in Gryffindor tower, Harry was oblivious.

Even Harry, though, as unobservant as he could be, could not stay oblivious for long. Sunday came and went without a single glimpse of white-blonde hair. Monday's breakfast was also disturbingly Malfoy-free, and when Harry at last saw him in Potions that morning the other boy was cold and distant, barely acknowledging Harry's presence as he slipped past him and into his usual seat between Pansy and Blaise. That night when Draco didn't show up in the library for their usual 'accidental' study session, Harry began to get the slight feeling that Draco might possibly be avoiding him. As the days dragged by, the slight feeling turned into a hunch, then a very strong possibility, and by Thursday a firm hypothesis. This hypothesis was proved correct, as far as Harry was concerned, by Friday night, when Draco had still failed to 'stumble upon' him in the Room of Requirement. At first, Harry hadn't really thought much of Draco's absence. Several times the other boy had disappeared for a few days, or refused to speak with him. Usually after incidents involving Ron and Hermione. However, since the start of their tenuous friendship the longest Draco had gone on ignoring and avoiding him had been 5 days- that night was the 6th. Something was definitely wrong. But what? After all, he and Malfoy were... well, _friends_ now. That was the only word Harry could think of for it. They had laughed and smiled and cried (well, _Harry_ had cried) and shared secrets- Draco wouldn't just start avoiding him for no reason. Right?

However, as Harry sat alone in the Room of Requirement, tucked in his usual chair by the fire, waiting and hoping as the time ticked slowly by, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Malfoy would.. _had_.. started avoiding him for no reason. Unless, of course, there _was_ a reason.

Harry thought long and hard about what he might have potentially done to drive Malfoy away, but he could only find one possible source for this most recent bout of shunning; the Quidditch Pitch. The last time Draco had spoken to him had been the previous Saturday when they'd gone to the Pitch. The only problem was, Harry found the details of that afternoon to be a little fuzzy. Well, more acurately- he couldn't remember some of what had happened. He recalled the memories about Quidditch he'd been reliving at the time, and the feel of the sun on his face, and Draco standing behind him, but then his recollection went a bit... oh, bloody hell, who was he kidding? He'd _blacked out._ He'd gone comletely barmy, he knew, and as hard as he tried he found he was just completely missing somewhere around 10 minutes worth of what had likely been a very entertaining mental breakdown. Perhaps… had he said something offense in his frantic state? Unlikely. He'd barely been able to breathe, let alone talk. Besides, Malfoy had seemed more worried than angry. The mud fight, then? No, they'd both been all laughs rolling about in the muck- tickling, pushing and shoving. Having fun, really. A lot of fun- the most he could remember having in a very long time. Sure, he'd gotten a little... emotional. But that was nothing new, not really. And Draco had comforted him, and then…

And then it hit him.

"_Oh no…"_

Harry froze, eyes wide in horrible realization.

"_Oh no… no.. I didn't…"_

His brain was literally beginning to hurt with the effort of remembering, his heart rate increasing at a shocking rate.

"Oh no… he must think… How could I not.._"_

Harry buried his face in his hands, unaware he had begun talking out loud as anger and shame took him in great waves.

"_No_. I _didn't_. I didn't promise I'd try to fly next time! He probably thinks I've given up! That I'm a hopeless case, that he'll be stuck babysitting me forever! Oh God, he's mad at me because he thinks I just gave up. He probably hates me for breaking down like that without even trying to get back on a broom. All I did was _stand_ there! Stand there and _cry_, like a.. like a _girl._ He was so confident in me, he just wanted to help me get my position back from Ron, and I let him down! All I did was _stand_ there and _cry_! Like a bloody _girl_! He must think I'm _pathetic._ _Fuck,_ I _am_ pathetic. What is _wrong_ with me?"

Harry found he could not longer sit still, pacing in front of the fire as his anxiety quickly escalated into outright panic. Harry's imagination was rapidly taking over the situation, magnifying Draco's avoidance into rage and disgust, picking up details of that last night of friendliness they'd spent and morphing them into possible signs of Malfoy's feelings, as well as fishing for comments he himself could have made that might have potentially aggravated the situation further. He wondered fleetingly how hard it might be to break into the Slytherin common room, and if Draco would even be in the dungeons at the moment. Perhaps he should get the Marauders Map and track him down? Yes, yes, that was it. He would find Malfoy and set things straight. However, as he turned to go and get the map an even better idea hit him. It was Friday. The next day would be Saturday. Draco always went out flying very early on Saturdays. The next morning he would go to the Pitch and _show_ Draco he wasn't weak, _prove _that he would fly again. He _would_ take his position back from Ron. Yes, that was it. He _would_ do it, because he owed it to Draco. He wouldn't... _couldn't_... disappoint the last honest friend he had.

Meanwhile, down in the dungeons, Draco Malfoy was certain he was losing his mind. For the past week he had agonized over the situation with Harry. There was no denying it; embarrassing though it was to admit even to himself, he was _hiding_. He was... avoiding. Not avoiding _Harry_ himself, but the confrontation and falling out he knew was coming, the anger and disgust Draco knew he'd find in Harry's eyes if he cared to look, his voice if he cared to listen. Somehow he'd gotten so caught up in Potter's life since that fateful morning little over a month before that despite his very best efforts to the contrary he had begun to care.. just a tiny bit. Yes, that which he had feared most (well, _almost_ most) from the beginning had actually come to pass. He _cared_. Sort of. He cared... sort of... about what happened to the stupid prat, and sort of worried a little when the other boy was upset. He also...sort of... liked the time they spent together. Sort of ...maybe... almost looked forward to it. And that is why he didn't bother to look or listen. That is why he didn't bother to show up in the library when they would normally have met to study. That is why he didn't dare venture up to the Room of Requirement that Friday evening, no matter how stuffy his dormitory got or how oppressively silent the common room was. He couldn't stand to go and find their normal meeting places empty. Or, even worse, to find Harry there, waiting to curse or hex or hate him. The kiss… oh Merlin, he didn't dare analyze it; it was bad enough he'd sometimes catch himself touching his lips, trying to recall what it had felt like. No, he'd already ruined it all anyway. Besides, even if maybe he had enjoyed it, just a little, that made it all the worse! Knowing that he took some small amount of pleasure in something that must be so wrong and shameful to Harry, especially after all the other boy had been through, was what made it worst of all. Unforgivable. And so Draco resigned himself to the fact that whatever he had had with Harry- he'd ruined it all. Thus, the next morning during his solo Quidditch practice, Draco was completely and utterly flabbergasted to see the thin, unmistakable dark haired figure of Harry Potter approaching from the broomshed, Firebolt in hand.

For his part, Harry was horrified. He felt as if he'd held his breath the entire walk down to the Pitch, standing in the shed and staring at his Firebolt for long, aching minutes. He couldn't really remember having touched it since _that_ night. He'd seen it, of course, and someone _else_ had obviously touched it to have put it in the broomshed instead of back up in his room. But to touch it, with his _own_ hands? Timidly, almost, he had traced a thumb across the gold script of the handle, shuddering to suddenly recall what it had felt like to have that same blunt tip buried between broken ribs through a thin layer of flesh. His side seemed to burn at the memory, but he shook himself, closing his eyes and blindly grabbing the broom before racing back out of the shed, slamming the rickety door behind him. He stood there panting for a moment, eyes still shut tight and back resting heavily against the splintered wall. He was shaking, but this wasn't the time for thoughts like that. This was the do or die moment in his friendship with Draco- his only friendship left and, strangely enough, the most dear. Somehow, the thought of losing his quirky relationship with Draco was more heart breaking than the way Ron and Hermione had all but abandoned him. After all, they were just busy, it wasn't personal- this was. And so, with all the Gryffindor bravery and resolve he could muster, Harry pushed aside the fear and apprehension threatening to choke him and entered the Pitch.

Harry felt dreadfully self-conscious as he mounted his Firebolt, staring resolutely at his hands clutched around the handle but painfully aware of Draco's eyes on him.

'_God, I hope he doesn't leave. That would be ironic. Fuck. Please, don't let him be so angry he won't even stay long enough let me try to prove I can do this. No, he's probably landing right now. I can't look. Fuck. I have to hurry._ _I have to hurry before he walks away and it's too late...'_

Had Harry not been so completely absorbed by internal panic and the simple task of balancing an inch or two above the ground he would have, for all the distance between them, seen the overwhelming look of awe, shock, and fear etched on Draco's face where he still hovered in the same spot at the other end of the Pitch, barely able to breathe himself. However, fear was too present in Harry's own mind to notice much of anything beyond the fog of his breath and the slowly shrinking ground beneath him as he rose, memories all the while threatening to shortly send him tumbling back down. The pressure was overwhelming, and it bunched the muscles in Harry's shoulders until they were nearly at his ears, making his already shaky hands begin to tremble uncontrollably. Funny, he realized, that somehow this was even more terrifying than the first time he'd ever ridden a broom; he'd been so focused on Malfoy then that he hadn't even had time to be afraid, and now he was so focused on Malfoy he couldn't help but be afraid. That wasn't the only difference, though; months of inactivity and malnutrition had left their mark, not to mention the damn _memories_ that simply would not let themselves be pushed aside. It seemed like he could feel the breath on his neck all over again, teeth digging in deep, breaking the skin. When he made the mistake of opening his eyes to look down at the grass far below (when had he gotten so high up?) he could see each individual blade in his mind, wet with his own blood and sharp-tipped where they poked him in the face. All of this, combined with nerves already frayed to breaking by the thought of what was at stake, left Harry huffing for breath, muscles straining with the effort of merely retaining control of the broom. Yet still he ventured on, determination blotting out all logic as he climbed higher and higher above the ground. He didn't dare look up until he was level with the highest goal post, but when he did his shocked eyes locked instantly on Draco where the stunned boy sat motionless, hovering far across the pitch. '_He's still here? I... I did it?'_ A wave of triumph overtook Harry- joy and accomplishment and pride filling him, initially masking the vertigo. It took Harry a long time to realize his broom was no longer beneath him and he was falling.

Draco hadn't moved since Harry's arrival. He'd watched, frozen midair, too shocked to even breathe as the Gryffindor rose until they were nearly level in height, wobbling and shaking in the air before finally looking up for the first time, their gazes locking. The look on Harry's face sent a chill down Draco's spine- it was pure, unadulterated joy. The fear that had gnawed inside Draco's chest all week seemed to explode, seeping into his blood and crawling even deeper under his skin, pooling in his limbs and making them feel impossibly heavy. What was Harry _doing_? And as quickly as that look of elation had appeared it was gone, the cold breeze around them shifting ominously and Harry was slipping, falling, plummeting quickly towards the ground. The length of the Pitch seemed to stretch before Draco until several hundred meters seemed infinite and though he pushed and dove with more speed and desperation than he'd ever mustered, Draco feared he would never make it in time. Harry's Firebolt was lost, forgotten as Draco's world narrowed until it centered on the diminishing distance between Harry and the Ground, and Harry and himself. If ever Draco had questioned his skills as a Seeker, this was not the time. The sea of green was mere inches beneath his broom when Draco's arm shot out, grabbing Harry about the waist and pulling him astride his own Nimbus 2001, using their combined weight to try to pull out of the dive but it was too late, they were too close and the tail clipped the ground, sending them both flying off to land with a dull thud, rolling for a few more meters before at last running out of momentum. They sank into the cold mud with a sickening squelch- far too reminiscent of the previous week's adventure for Draco's liking, though this time they lay in it together, limbs tangled and robes splayed in odd directions.

Throughout their fall Draco had not lost his grip around Harry's waist, and with a groan he pulled the Gryffindor closer into a painful sort of half-hug, face pressed against the pale, heaving expanse of throat.

"Bloody.... git. You seem... determined... to make... a hero of.. me.. yet."

Draco's voice was soft and raspy, panting against the side of Harry's neck as he tried to regain the wind their abrupt impact had knocked from him. Harry shivered, at both the feel of Draco's lips moving against his throat and the arm wrapped tightly around him, and then he shuddered. Despite himself, hot, bitter tears of shame were burning his eyes. Harry tried to blink them back but there were too many. _Bloody hell_. At least his glasses had gotten lost in the fall so he wouldn't have to worry about them getting wet and sticky and fogged up. His eyes seemed suddenly like they were made of tears and all he could do was lay there on his back and stare blankly, miserably at the misty sky as they poured down the sides of his face, dripping uncomfortably in his left ear and down the right side of his neck. _No_. Draco couldn't know, couldn't see him crying, couldn't know how weak he really was, especially not after he'd tried so hard to prove otherwise. _No. _It was useless, of course, because now those traitorous tears were dripping down the left side of his neck too, where Draco's face was still resting. He tried to pull away before the other boy could notice but just as fast Draco's face was hovering above his, pale hands pushing his own away and he was so close there was no way that he could _not_ see the tears.

"_Harry_?"

The voice was so _loud_. Draco was almost on top of him, he sounded so _angry._

"Are you hurt? What's wrong, are you okay?"

No, no, _no_. Harry could practically feel the disgust rolling off Draco in waves and he sobbed, voice catching in his throat when he tried to say 'yes,' tried to say that of course he was okay, tried to make an excuse, tried to say _anything_, but only another sob came out. Tears were streaming unchecked from behind his closed eyes. This was _worse_ than anger. Fear. Draco was scared Harry was hurt because then he would get in trouble again. _Again_. He'd already caused Draco so much trouble, and now _this. _Harry tried to curl in on himself, self-loathing burning him alive from the inside out, leaving him hollow and miserable and breathless.

"I'm sorry!" Another sob. "Oh, God... I'm sorry! _Fuck_… I didn't mean to… I'm sorry… I'm sorry..."

Harry hiccuped and sobbed again, face buried in his hands. It was over, he'd ruined it all, destroyed whatever tiny chance he'd had left. But then, why was Malfoy so gentle when he took Harry's hands in his own, carefully removing them from his wet, splotchy face? Why did he look so stunned, so concerned as he brushed away a tear straying uncomfortably close to Harry's ear?

"What?" Draco sounded truly, genuinely confused. "What are _you_ sorry for? I was the one that-"

"_I let you down_!" Harry blurted desperately. "You were so nice to me! You did so much, and all you wanted was to see me get back on the team- but I couldn't even walk out on the Pitch! I let you down! I'm just a worthless mess, I can't even fly anymore! That's why you started avoiding me, isn't it?"

Harry's eyes finally opened, luminous and green and shining with the tears he was still trying in vain to hold back. For a long time all Draco could do was stare and gape.

"Wait, you think… I mean, last Saturday, when I made you come down here, and then.. and then…"

Dark brows knitted with confusion.

"Did I say something wrong? I mean, I didn't think I said anything. I was so upset I... well, I don't... exactly..." Harry sighed, voice dropping to an embarrassed whisper. "I don't really remember everything that happened. I was just laughing and crying and I couldn't stop-"

Draco's face, just inches from his own, went blank.

"Wait, wait- you don't _remember_ what happened?"

A new wave of guilt hit Harry in the chest.

"No! I just, well, I... yes, I suppose… that is…. No. I don't remember."

_Damn._ Whatever he'd done must have been even worse than he'd imagined.

"And, you think I've been avoiding you because you weren't ready to fly last weekend?"

A slow nod of the messy black head.

"And so you came down here to prove you can still fly- so I'll.. talk to you again?"

Draco faltered for a moment, casting about for words but finding only ones that mediocrely conveyed what he was really trying to ask.

"_Yes_..."

Harry sniffed miserably, tears beginning anew and Draco thought he'd never seen anything more precious… or, umm, pathetic. So utterly, heart-meltingly… pathetic. He couldn't help but laugh.

"Silly prat…. Don't be stupid…"

Draco sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in mock frustration but stroking a reassuring hand through that tangle of black hair nonetheless. Harry went completely rigid, an unpleasant mix of outrage, hurt and indignation rushing to fill the void in his chest. _What? _He wanted to get up and run, or yell, or kick or _something_. _He_ was being stupid?

"But... I don't understand! You've been avoiding me all week! I thought you hated me! I'm so weak- I let you down!"

The logic was twisted, stilted and completely, well, illogical. It made no sense; anyone in their right mind could see Harry wasn't weak. But that was it, wasn't it? Harry _wasn't_ in his right mind. Harry had been abused for Merlin knew how long. Harry had beaten and raped and left for dead. Harry had been abandoned by his friends. Harry had been all but forgotten by everyone he'd cared about- abandoned and pushed away by those he trusted most when he truly needed them. Abandoned by everyone, that is, except Draco. Draco: a Slytherin, a Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater and generally a cold, heartless, evil bastard. Of course, five years of bitter rivalry and multiple death threats probably hadn't helped much either. Somehow though, in little over a month's time he'd become not only Harry's one friend but also his, well, _guardian_. The word tingled rather pleasantly down Draco's sides, making him feel suddenly warm despite the mist thickening around them. But then the enormity of the situation suddenly hit him very hard, and despite the warmth and the tingles Draco abruptly had the urge to run away as fast as possible. But he didn't. Or, more accurately, he couldn't. All he could do was stare open-mouthed down at Harry's terrified, tear stained face.

"_Oh Merlin… I'm all he has left. I'm all he has and I pushed him away because of a kiss he doesn't even remember. Stupid, stupid, stupid…"_

Draco's mind was screaming and he tried to think of something, anything to say to make it better but no words would come. He opened and closed his mouth, hoping that somehow the right things would fall out on their own, but no sound came. Not surprising, really, considering how new he was to the whole "comforting" thing. This, unfortunately, seemed to have been a very poor response. Draco watched in horror as Harry's eyes began to fill with new tears, both breath and brows hitching as he tried to fight the inevitable. Harry's pink, obviously-chewed lower lip was beginning to tremble, and the flush brightening his cheeks was slowly creeping down his soft, pale throat to disappear beneath the loose collar of his robe and into his jumper. Draco felt ready to scream with frustration. He didn't though, because watching the tears form... feeling the shuddering sobs begin... witnessing it all start to finish so close was just physically painful and it had to stop, Draco just had to make it _stop_.

"_No_! No, no, don't cry! I'm not angry. You didn't let me down! I don't hate you! You're.. you're nice… really. I.. I like you, just.. whatever you do, just.. just _stop crying_, okay?" Draco's voice was laced with desperation, eyes pleading.

"But I'm _weeeeaaaak_!"

Harry wailed, hands clinging so tightly to the front of Draco's robes he thought they might rip.

"No! No, you're not weak! You're.. you're not… oh bloody _hell_, you're not weak, stop crying!"

Draco pulled Harry into a sitting position, wrenching the the other boy's hands from his robes and gripping them tightly.

"Look at me, Harry."

He didn't.

"Harry..."

When Harry continued to stare resolutely at the ground Draco sighed, smiling sadly as he tapped the other boy gently under the chin so that startled green eyes flew up to meet his.

"Harry. You are not weak. I… I am. I'm… sorry.. for ignoring you this week. I was being.. slightly stupid."

Now it was Draco's turn to look away, pale cheeks darkening imperceptibly.

"But, wh-"

Harry's mouth had barely opened, but Draco was not ready to even contemplate what other self-depreciating comments or unnervingly insightful questions the other boy might be about to unleash.

"_No_… it had nothing to do with you, it's not important. I'm sorry I ignored you, it will not happen again. So just.. forget it, okay? I'm sorry, now let's forget it happened."

Harry looked deeply confused but nodded nonetheless, carefully disentangling his hands from Draco's and wiping his face with the sleeve of his robe. Once his face was dry, though, Harry seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands, wringing them together awkwardly before settling them in his lap, eyes locked steadfastly back on the ground. He looked... expectant. Hopeful, maybe, and Draco thought he was looking rather… pathetic again. Totally pathetic, and not endearing at all. Certainly not.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..."

Draco hissed, leaning forward onto his knees and pulling Harry into a hug. For a moment Harry went rigid once more, and Draco feared that if he had to deal with any more tears he might actually scream this time. Luckily, the Gryffindor seemed more than happy to return the embrace and the tears seemed, at last, to be done. A grateful smile spread itself across Draco's face. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Come on, Harry… lets go get you cleaned up a bit. You look a mess."

It was a short while later that Harry and Draco stepped out of the Quidditch locker room and headed towards the broomshed, both freshly showered and dressed in the spare clothes Draco always kept in his locker. It was strange, Draco thought to himself as they walked, to see the clothes that fit him so perfectly nearly slipping off of Potter. He knew Harry was still underweight, but the contrast was startling, as well as deeply unsettling.

"Do you, umm.. you want to go in for breakfast?"

Harry 'hmm?'ed distractedly, a slight furrow creasing his forehead as he finally looked up from the cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms.

"Yeah, I s'pose. I'm not really too hungry, though."

Draco frowned. Harry sighed.

"_Damn."_

Another sigh.

"Sounds silly, but I'd really thought maybe I would make it back on the team before winter holidays. I suppose that won't be happening, now, though."

Harry pulled back the cloth, picking up the fractured broom handle he had so gingerly touched not an hour before, turning it back and forth in his hand to watch the light glint off the metallic script.

"I know I can still try to practice on one of the school brooms, but it's just not the same. Maybe... maybe I'll just see if I can order a new one by post. Sorry- I'm babbling. I must sound so _stupid_, but... I just can't imagine riding someone else's broom."

Unexpectedly, Draco felt a smirk begin tugging at his lips, a wickedly delightful thought sparking in his mind.

"Oh, really?"

Harry merely gave him a quizzical look, stopping as they reached the shed and setting about packing up the pieces of his broom.

"Yeah, like I said- stupid. I guess.. I dunno, growing up all I had were hand-me-downs from my cousin. I never really had much that was just mine, but that broom was a gift. From... my godfather..."

Harry's voice was sounding pathetic again, but Draco had stopped listening. Silently he mounted his own broom, rising just barely off the ground before inching closer to Harry's oblivious form, back still turned as he packed away his broom.

"...and besides, if I'm every going to try to make it back on the team I- Wha..Draco? What are- oh!!"

Any protests Harry made were soundly ignored as Draco grabbed the feather-light Gryffindor firmly by the waist, hoisting him astride the broom and tucking him tightly against his chest before soaring straight up into the mist.

"Malfoy?! What the hell do you think you're doinngggg!"

Draco tipped them forward into a dive, gripping the broom with one hand and holding onto Harry securely around the waist with the other.

"Why Potter," Draco whispered silkily, effortlessly pulling them back up towards the clouds. "I thought that would be rather obvious. We're flying."

Harry squirmed anxiously as Draco steered the broom through a series of rather complicated swoops and dives, but he was quickly discovering that not only was the Slytherin quite capable of such maneuvering single-handed (must be all that Seeker practice, he supposed), but also that his grip was so secure there was no chance of Harry falling, no matter how sharp the dive. Feeling slightly more at ease, Harry began to relax, leaning awkwardly back against Draco at first before fully settling in, one hand gripping the handle just beneath Draco's own, the other coming to rest atop the Slytherin's knee.

"So it would seem…"

Harry whispered breathlessly, and though he felt he should think of a wittier comeback than that, he found he couldn't concentrate long enough to think of one. He loved flying, lived for it, and as far as experiences went he was finding this was certainly one of the best. After months on the ground the feeling of nothing but wind beneath his feet was dizzying, exhilarating; the way it whipped around them, stung his face, occasionally batted at them like they were little more than a stray leaf. And yet, Draco's control over the broom was absolute, his chest warm and solid against Harry's back making him feel safer than he had in as long as he could remember, more alive than he'd been in months.

Draco wasn't sure if this was one of his best ideas, or one of his worst. On the one hand, Harry seemed happy, genuinely happy, _and_ he was back on a broom, both of which were good. On the other hand, Harry was also leaning against him in a soft, vulnerable type of way that was making him feel... tingly... again, which was bad. Very bad. His hand was on Draco's knee, the mass of unruly black vanilla-scented hair was tickling his face, and Draco thought he could practically feel the warmth of Harry's skin through the layers of fabric.. his fabric… Harry was wearing _his_ clothes. That was the worst part of all. Pressed so close he could smell Harry; that special combination of soap and skin and magic that was his alone, mingled with Draco's own scent on the clothes. The combination of the two seemed terribly intimate somehow, and Draco realized with a sickening jolt that they had better land very soon, before Harry realized that a broom was not the only thing pressing against his arse. Definitely not one of his better ideas.

Over the past week Draco hadn't bothered to think about the brief kiss he'd shared with the boy currently reclining against him; it hadn't seemed worth the grief, really. But now, well, if he and Harry were going to be friends (friends who hugged constantly and spent loads of time together and shared rides on a broom), then, well... then maybe now would be a good time to start thinking about that kiss. But then Harry squirmed back against him, head knocking comfortably against Draco's shoulder as he laughed, light and free with the exhilaration of flight, and Draco decided that later would be a fine time to worry about it. In the meantime, he would enjoy this- as much as he could.

"Still can't imagine riding someone else's broom, Harry?"

Draco's voice was soft and low and slightly rough in Harry's ear as they finally slowed from their whirlwind dives to circle leisurely through the clouds. They were risky words, he knew. Easily misinterpreted. However, though he hated admitting it even to himself, he was hoping to see another of those pretty pink blushes that liked to crawl down Harry's throat and into his shirt. At the moment, with such a tempting prize, the risk seemed well worth it. He had never had a chance to really enjoy the full effect of Harry's flushed face, and he was also secretly, shamefully, dreadfully curious to see if he could actually cause it himself. In this, he was certainly not disappointed; he could see the color spreading just inches inches away, almost... obscenely... pink where it dipped under Harry's jaw and duskier where it pooled around his collar bone.

And then, Draco got more than he bargained for. The breeze had calmed enough that they weren't so much flying as floating, high above the grass and the lake and the Forbidden Forest. It was beautiful in the mist, and they had both relaxed their grips slightly, easily maintaining balance with knees alone. One of Draco's arms was still around Harry's waist (purely for support, of course), hand firmly pressed against the side of Harry's stomach, just above the sharp curve of his hip. The other was perched awkwardly on his own upper thigh, uncertain where to rest with Harry in front of him. And then Harry caught them both gently by the wrist, drawing them up under his own and pulling them tightly across his chest in an 'X', practically folding Draco around him in a shockingly intimate embrace. And then, he leaned back into Draco so that his head rested on the other boy's shoulder, eyes closed and face tilted up, turned so his lips were so close Draco could almost feel them against his throat, just barely below his ear.

And then, Harry whispered-

"Only yours, Draco. Only yours..."

Draco had seen the way a man's face looked when hit with a Killing Curse- the look of a soul being ripped from the body, leaving its owner a split second to miss it before collapsing lifeless to the ground. This is how he felt. The words seemed to punch straight through his chest, stealing his breath and sending hot, shivery tingles melting down his sides to pool in his stomach. And then, Harry leaned in that last quarter inch so his lips burned a smile against Draco's throat, gently nuzzling below Draco's ear, warm breath lightly stirring blonde hair. Draco gasped, arms tightening around Harry, pulling him impossibly closer. He felt like some part of him had just been violently ripped from him, something deep inside his chest torn clean away. As they drifted slowly back down to earth, Draco thought he could see whatever it was floating away, carried off on the breeze to disappear in the mist. He did not miss it.


	18. The List

Warning: This chapter contains mature content of a sexual nature.

~*~

Draco Malfoy, was, above all else, a Slytherin. He was of the purest blood. He was the sole heir to one of the oldest, richest, most powerful wizarding families in England. He was sharp, cunning, manipulative and intelligent. He also deeply detested getting his hands dirty. In addition, as was true of any rightful Slytherin (he believed), he did not care to be in any sort of personal danger or discomfort whatsoever; he skillfully avoided confronting potentially harmful or troublesome situations for as long as possible, and if (alright, _when_) the problem became unavoidable, he preferred to plot and scheme until he was resolutely sure he could solve said problem without incurring any damage to his person, or his pride.

This being the case, Draco whiled away the remainder of Saturday talking to, studying with, playing chess against and essentially spending as much time with Harry Potter as possible, all while steadfastly avoiding the "potential problem"- in this case, his actual thoughts and feelings about the Gryffindor in question. Breakfast, lunch and dinner all passed by in what felt like slow motion. At each meal Draco insisted, to a strange mixture of shock, horror and curiosity from the general Hogwarts population, that Harry sit at the Slytherin table. For their part the Slytherins remained almost entirely silent through all three meals, though Draco personally suspected it was merely out of self-preservation that his House held their collective tongue. After all, as the one and only son of a known, incarcerated Death Eater, Draco was certainly not the safest of targets. At least dear old Lucius was still good for something.

And so things continued throughout the remainder of the evening- as good as Draco could hope for. That is, until somewhere around eleven that night in the Room of Requirement when Harry looked up from the Potions text they were reading over and announced he was going to bed.

"Oh… you're sure? You don't want to play another game of Exploding Snap? Or maybe Wizards Chess? You know you still owe me a re-match after you cheated in that last game."

Draco was aware he probably sounded mildly pathetic, but inside he was torn. On the one hand, he could tell Harry had not been sleeping well and could certainly use all the rest he could get. But on the other, if he left that meant Draco would no longer be able to focus on just being with Harry and would, without a doubt, start _thinking_ about him instead. Which was worse. By far.

"I most certainly did _not_ cheat. Nowhere in the rules of Wizards Chess does it say anything about filling _your own_ pieces with jam; it's merely a distractionary tactic. You know, you still would have won, too, if you hadn't been so prissy about getting sticky each time you took one of my pieces. We can have your rematch tomorrow, though, since you insist. For tonight, I'm more than ready for bed. Besides, don't you want to go wash your hair? You've still got some jam in it."

Draco shook his head to clear it, running his fingers through his slightly sticky hair.

"Yes… I suppose I do. How thoughtful of you to have chosen blackberry though; you know it's my favorite."

Harry laughed at this and Draco felt an answering wave of warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. Getting covered in jam had been utterly humiliating, but the fact that Harry had even _noticed_ blackberry was his favorite made him feel tingly. Again. Bloody hell, he felt as if he was turning into a... something that tingled a lot. _Damn_ Potter and _damn_ that smooth expanse of stomach and jutting hip bone suddenly in front of him as Harry stood and stretched. He couldn't even make a decent analogy anymore. Maybe getting away from Harry _would_ be a good idea after all. At least, for the time being, anyhow.

And so Draco embarked on the very very long, short walk with Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, exchanging awkward goodnights that ended with a lopsided smile and the near-painful creak of the portrait swinging shut. The soft 'thud' seemed to echo indefinitely, and the Fat Lady jolted a little and gave a grunt of annoyance in her sleep. If Draco thought watching Harry disappear into the Gryffindor common room was painful, though, the long trek back to his own dormitory was excruciating. The halls seemed colder now that he was alone, and the shadows darker, but all the while Draco found himself replaying through memories of the day; Harry and his stupid bravery, almost getting himself _killed_ just so _Draco_ would talk to him. The way Harry had smelled, freshly showered and wearing Draco's own clothes. That soft pink flush that he _himself_ had caused. The shy, uncertain smile he'd earned as he pushed Crabbe over at the Slytherin table to make room for Harry. The way the other boy's tongue would poke out the corner of his mouth just the slightest bit when he was concentrating on his Potion's homework. The bright, warm laughter that had rolled out freely when that first jam-filled chess piece had exploded. Bad… very bad. And then, of course, came the whispered "Only yours, Draco.." that he could still feel like warm breath against his throat. As he walked, Draco absently brushed just beneath his ear where Harry's lips had burned those words into him. It sounded even worse out of context. Of course, the "only yours" had referred to his broom, and the fact that it was the only one Harry would ever consider riding other than his own. Wait, that... wasn't really any better.

Eventually Draco did reach the safety of his room, where he was met only by darkness and the loud, wet snores of his roommates, all sleeping soundly. Retrieving his pajamas from the trunk at the foot of his bed, Draco made his way to the bathroom, turning on the water before stripping and leaving his robes in a pile near the door.

Once in the shower, Draco couldn't suppress a groan of relief. He turned the water up as hot as he could stand it, stretching and arching his back as the heat and pressure finally eased away the tension of his day with Harry- not to mention soothing his shoulder, which still ached from its earlier impact with the Ground. Slowly, his eyes drooped shut under the exquisitely searing heat and he slumped forward against the wall, mercifully relinquishing the stranglehold he'd had on his self-control all day. Yes, this was all he had needed. A nice, relaxing shower and then into his nice, soft bed with its equally soft black silk sheets. Suddenly, and completely unbidden, another image bloomed vividly behind Draco's eyes to join the others of Potter, though this one was certainly more fiction than fact. Harry- naked and panting, spread out on those same black silk sheets. That pink flush was staining his cheeks again, but now Draco could see it spread all the way down his lightly heaving chest, fading just above the thin trail of black hair that disappeared beneath those horrible, wonderful black sheets. In the dim, flickering light of his mind soft, pale limbs seemed to glow, shifting and arching eagerly... _wantonly_, almost. A shy smile played across those pink lips as they parted on a soft, breathy "_Only yours, Draco..._"

Draco's eyes shot open immediately and he jerked away from the wall so violently he nearly slipped; so violently, in fact, he could feel his still-growing erection bounce off his thigh. He stared down at himself in absolute horror, nearly choking on his own gasp and then almost choking again at the painful burn it left in his lungs. His lungs were the least of his concerns, though- Draco's eyes darted round, panic and paranoia seizing him instantly. Had someone _seen_? He peeked outside the curtain, but from what he could tell he was still alone. What if someone were hiding, though? Or disillusioned? Did they somehow know what he had been thinking? Had they seen that image of Potter, or his horrible, horrible reaction to it? _Harry. _Another flash of... false memory (what else to call it? Certainly not fantasy. That implied he _enjoyed_ it) hit him- Harry clawing at those same damned sheets, head thrown back, messy hair clinging to sweaty forehead. Gasping, panting, chest heaving- "_Please, Draco... please..."_

"Bloody hell…"

Draco all but leapt from the shower, not even bothering to wash his jam-sticky hair. His hands were trembling as he hurriedly toweled off, pointedly ignoring the fact that his body was nowhere near as repulsed by these images as it should have been. He felt suddenly ill- it was freezing in the small, dimly lit bathroom, and the cold was blending with his disgust to form a heavy knot of unpleasantness in his stomach. He was still half wet as he threw on his pajamas and rushed from the bathroom.

"_Alright, the shower was just a bad idea. Sleep, sleep is what I need. This is merely a strange reaction from too many sugar quills and not enough sleep…. " _Draco mentally reassured himself as climbed hastily into bed, trying desperately all the while to ignore that brief yet incredibly vivid image, as well as the debilitating arousal it had caused, which was stubbornly refusing to go down.. err, away. Luckily, the day's events had taken a greater toll on Draco than he'd realized, and he only had to stare dejectedly at his canopy for a half hour before sleep, and subsequently dreams, laid claim to him:

"_Draco...."_

_Soft hands tangled in the front of his robes, pulling him closer, but Draco caught them easily, absently disentangling them and pinning them to the muddy grass with his own. His lips were flush against an impossibly soft throat, pressing hot, urgent kisses into it as silky soft black vanilla scented hair tickled his hands would not stay put, though, breaking free to tug clumsily at buttons and zippers and laces until Draco took over, quickly pushing off his own robes and the jumper beneath before turning his attention back to that flushed expanse of throat, tracing his tongue along dips and hollows until he at last procured another softly gasped "Draco..."_ _to add to his rapidly growing collection_. _His hips bucked forward of their own accord at that pleading, breathy sound and this, to his great satisfaction, earned him a pleasantly surprised whimper and equally-desperate hips straining to meet his own. Draco's hands were frantically tugging the slightly scratchy wool jumper from the writhing form beneath him_, _gazing down into wide, glazed green eyes behind slightly skewed glasses_. _Placing those glasses carefully aside he brushed back the mop of wild black hair, delighting in the shy smile, the gorgeous color that rose along cheeks and throat, brushing the tips of his ears pink. Oh, _Harry_. Draco leaned down, ghosting his lips feather light over Harry's- they clung softly together, reluctant to retreat, and no one's lips should ever be that full, that soft but slightly rough, that warm and perfect. There were hot little panted breaths tickling his face through passion parted lips and he dipped his tongue forward infinitesimally to drag along the obscenely warm, smooth, slippery inside of that chapped, swollen, trembling lower lip and this time they both moaned-_

Draco woke with a start, panting and disoriented. He was tangled in his sheets, his entire body throbbing with a hollow, needy ache that had him thinking that perhaps sleep hadn't been such a good idea either. Nearly the instant his eyes had closed the dreams had begun, replaying that morning's Quidditch Pitch adventure, only modified with a few new additions that certainly had _not_ occurred. A brief image of he and Harry rolling around shirtless in the grass, kissing and panting and grinding together and Draco was bolting out of bed. He shot his rumpled blankets a withering glare before stumbling angrily through the darkness towards the door, stubbing his foot on Blaise's trunk and nearly biting clear through his lip with the effort of not yelping. He stood there swaying on one foot for a moment, but eventually let out a long, pained wheeze and hobbled down to the common room. He carefully tucked his frozen, aching foot beneath him and sank into a chair by the fire to brood.

This was beginning to get ridiculous. Saving Harry Potter from certain death was one thing, but this? Alright, so helping the aforementioned hero recover and catch up with his school work was.. acceptable, he supposed. Befriending the friendless Golden Boy and vowing to help him extract revenge was moving decidedly into questionable territory, but not entirely unreasonable. But indulging in shower fantasies and sweaty dreams? Draco found his hand inching towards his lap just at the thought, eyes closed on a vivid memory of smooth skin over sharp hip bone, but he quickly snapped back to reality, tucking his hands against his chest instead. Then there was the matter of his.. _feelings._ Warm, tingly, non-hatred feelings. Almost as if he actually- _No_. He couln't even think it. That was just- impossible. Unforgivable, incomprehensible, undeniable. Wait, what? Undeniable? This was too much, really. This had to stop.

Rummaging around a bit, Draco soon located a roll of parchment, a quill and some ink. Blanket in tow he sat stiffly (_'oh, you just had to, didn't you?'_ Draco huffed with mild self-loathing, but uncomfortably readjusted his pajama trousers nonetheless) in front of the fire to end this whole question once and for all the way any true Slytherin would. Dipping quill to ink, he neatly scrawled across the top of the parchment: "Harry Potter- Pros and Cons". Starting with the "pros" column, he began:

1) He's nice.

2) He's funny… sometimes.

3) He's sort of smart sometimes. At certain things.

4) He's the Savior of the Wizarding World.

_'Wait, is that a pro or a con?' _he wondered silently, but ultimately left it.

5) He's...

Here Draco paused for a long moment, trying to find a single word that could describe Harry's soft messy hair, vividly green eyes and distrubingly full, pink lips. Not to mention... the _hipbones_. He swallowed heavily in defeat. There was no one word for it.

5) He's... physically appealing.

'_Physically appealing_?' Draco snarled at himself. What... well, it got the general point across, he supposed. "_Hmm… maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Let's start on the cons…" _

1) He's a Gryffindor.

"_Well, that's really not too bad. I mean, it show's he's loyal, and brave, and true, which is sort of nice, if not a little annoying at times."_

Draco promptly scratched this from the list and added it to the "pros" side before starting again on the "cons".

1) He's too skinny.

"_That's easily fixed though. Besides, there is enormous potential in that simple solution."_

An image of Harry licking chocolate from certain parts of Draco's anatomy had him scratching this hurriedly off the "cons" list and adding it to the "pros".

1) He's been violently abused, has virtually no self-esteem, and horrible trust issues.

"_I don't know that's so much a "con" though. Just an... obstacle. Lavishing him with praise and compliments would surely help that, and he seems to have quite a bit of trust in me already. Then there's just the 'horribly abused' part, but I can't exactly hold that against him..."_

This was also crossed off the list, but deciding this wasn't exactly a "pro" either he simply made note of it in the margin.

1) We're both boys…

"_Well actually, I think that's rather a good thing…"_

This was scratched off and added to the "pros" side almost as soon as it was written.

Quite a long while passed during which Draco tried to come up with a valid shortcoming, but each problem or weakness was quickly met with a rebuttal in his mind, and so eventually all he managed to add to the "con" side was:

1) A Dark Wizard wants to kill him.

"_This may not have been one of my better ideas…"_

Draco poured over this list for another hour or so, making small amendments. He eventually decided that "con" was perhaps too strong a word and opted for the addition of an "obstacles" list instead that included things like "we've been trying to kill each other for five years" and "daddy would _not_ approve". Not to mention the ever important issue of producing a Malfoy heir. During this time the "pros" list reached a startling total of one hundred and three points, including Harry's newfound emotions (always a good excuse to give Harry a hug), and the unruly hair (for Draco would have an excuse to brush it). By the time he was done (not so much from running out of ideas as much as the fact he was running low on ink), Draco had decided his main problem was not really the fact that he liked Harry Potter- as odd as it seemed, and though it would certainly take a bit of adjusting to, his... interest... seemed pretty obvious once he faced the facts. No, the real problem would be how to go about telling the other boy this. Draco was, afterall, a Malfoy, and Malfoys _always_ got what they wanted. Even if that somehow unexpectedly and completely unintentionally happened to be Harry Potter. However, the fire was all but dead by then and the clock on the mantle told him it was very nearly four in the morning. With this in mind he decided any further thought on the matter could wait until the next day. Groggily he tucked away his things and rolled up the parchment, wincing when the floor rudely reminded him that his foot was still very much in pain, in addition to the lovely fact that it was now asleep as well. But eventually he hobbled back up and returned to his tangled sheets, almost half-way hoping he might be able to pick up his dream where he had left off.

The next morning Draco woke late feeling well and truly rested. Outside he could hear the soft pitter-patter of rain on the false window, and he happily burrowed deeper beneath his covers. All seemed calm and peaceful in his little sanctuary, until a barrage of knocking fell upon the door, accompanied by an unmistakable, very annoyed voice: Pansy.

"_Draco_! Draco, are you in there?!"

The knocking degenerated into flat-out pounding.

"Go away…."

Draco rolled over, pulling the covers up over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the noise.

"Draco, get your lazy arse up! It's almost noon and Potter's at the common room door asking for you!"

This certainly got a reaction.

"_What_?"

Draco all but bolted from bed, tossing his covers aside and running to grab clean pants, trousers and shirt from his trunk, all the while mumbling a steady mantra of "_shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_". As he threw open the door on his way to the bathroom to change, he instantly became aware of a lot of yelling down in the common room.

"Pansy, be a dear and let him in would you? And bring him up here. And tell those idiots to leave him alone or I'll hex them all 'till they wish they were dead."

Pansy just stood there looking at him. The polite vehemence in his voice at that last order made her scowl a little, her jaw setting and re-setting as if she were contemplating something.

"_What_? What is it?"

Draco practically snapped as he grabbed his wand, casting a charm for his bed to make itself and his clothes to pile into the hamper.

"Draco, it's just… is it such a good idea? You being with Potter all the time? I mean- letting him sit at our table? Letting him into our dormitory? And, I don't mean to be... it's just, Blaise and I, we sort of..."

Draco turned to her, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Pansy, just let him in would you? Preferably before all the commotion attracts Snape? I know what I'm doing, and if you all know what's best for you, you'll stay _out_ of it. Now let him _in_, for Merlin's sake!"

With that Draco disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door and leaving Pansy to stare after him sadly. "_We sort of miss you..."_ She finished silently. Draco's threat was completely lost on her, but for lack of anything else to do she finally returned to the common room to let Potter in.

A few minutes later Draco emerged to find Harry sitting awkwardly on the edge of his bed, half of Slytherin house watching him through the open door. As he walked by, Draco kicked it shut in their faces.

"Morning!" He chirped, unconvincingly cheery smile plastered to his face, voice unusually high. "Sorry I overslept. I was a bit restless last night…"

Harry smiled, looking slightly more relaxed since the door was closed, but still on edge.

"It's okay… I was just wondering where you were. I didn't see you at breakfast."

This is when Draco noticed that the scroll containing his list of pros and cons was still sitting on his bedside table- right in plain sight of Harry.

"O-oh," His voice cracked a little, the tense smile straining further. "Sooo you've already eaten then?"

Draco tried not to panic, hoping Harry didn't pick up on the awkward waver of his voice and his nervous laugh as he sat between Harry and the scroll, hoping desperately the other boy wouldn't notice it, trying to devise a way to hide the blasted thing.

"I thought you said you'd know if I didn't eat?"

Here Harry flashed a playful smirk that fed Draco's nerves and had him feeling slightly warmer than he ought to for a cold, rainy Sunday morning. Luckily a distraction came in the form of another knock at the door and Pansy once more poked her head in. Any trace of concern she'd shown earlier was gone- her face was perfectly blank, voice cold and emotionless.

"Draco, we're going down to lunch now. Are you coming?"

Draco stood, discretely reaching behind him and grabbing the scroll, knocking it to the floor and casually kicking it under the bed. Yes… crisis averted.

"Harry, are you hungry?"

Harry looked slightly skeptical, but nodded nonetheless.

"Sure, I'll go.."

From downstairs Blaise's voice called:

"Come on, Draco… and get your stupid Gryffindor out of here before he infects the whole place with his bravery and nobility!"

A roar of laughter came from the common room and Draco chanced a look at Harry; he couldn't help but smile as he thought to himself:

"_Yes… _my_ Gryffindor. I think I like the sound of that.."_

The walk down to the Great Hall was fairly uneventful. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise all walked ahead while Draco lagged behind with Harry, listening as the Gryffindor stumbled ever-so-slightly over his words while talking about Hermione's strange hours down in the Potion's lab and Ron's new tendency of joining her there, as well as the Weasely girl's new habit of avoiding him. Draco listened for a bit but quickly changed the subject to much more pleasant things when Harry began to slip into a rather morose tone. Deep down Draco was feeling increasingly uneasy about the way Harry's friends had been acting. Their strange behavior thus far had been shockingly rude, careless and inconsiderate, but admittedly it had all remained generally benign. However, the Weasel (as Draco now mentally referred to Ron at all times), had said something at the Quidditch match that'd put Draco slightly on edge ever since: "_Maybe they're alright with traitors down in Slytherin, but we _Gryffindors_ won't tolerate it_." The Weasel had then gone on to say something rude about Draco's mother and insulted his Potions skills, but there was something about that sentence in particular that had stood out in his mind. It had sounded almost... intentionally... vague. Not to mention there had also been a strange emphasis on the word 'Gryffindors'; Draco tried not to make a habit out of reading too far into anything a Weasel said, but he couldn't help thinking it sounded as if the ginger git were saying something more. As if... he was implying there were Gryffindors, and then there were _Gryffindors_, only one type of which was worthy of the title. Draco knew that indulging in such paranoid speculation was unbefitting someone of his intelligence, but that comment was still setting off warning signs in Draco's head over a week later. It was almost as if the Weasel was... but no, that was ridiculous. Whatever had happened to cause the schism between Harry and his friends didn't change the fact that the Weasel _had_ been Harry's best friend for over five years- however much things had changed, he wouldn't hurt Harry. Draco _knew_ he was just reading too far into it. However, it hadn't stopped the split-second jolt of fear that gripped him every time he watched Harry disappear into the Gryffindor common room. Harry seemed happy enough, though, and they were so busy talking that neither boy noticed Professor Dumbledore until he was directly in front of them, a firm hand on Draco's shoulder steering him away and towards the nearby staircase with startling strength.

"Mr. Malfoy, I need to see you in my office immediately."

Draco looked up, surprised. What _now_? He thought all this had been done with…

"Sir? Did I do something?"

Draco looked to Dumbledore, then back to Harry.

"No Mr. Malfoy, but I need you to come with me. There is something of utmost importance I need to speak to you about. If you would just join me in my office.."

Dumbledore turned and began walking at a quick pace down the hall. Draco hesitated only a moment to wave his friends on ahead before following after the old Headmaster. Harry looked nervously after them before following along as well, calling out to Dumbledore.

"Sir, can I come as well? Maybe I can help…"

Dumbledore did not even pause for a moment.

"No, Harry. This does not concern you. Go in to lunch. By the time you're finished eating you should be able to speak briefly with Mr. Malfoy. Run along now…"

Dumbledore did not even attempt to look reassuring, placing a hand on Draco's back to hasten him along as they turned and hurried off down the adjoining hall, leaving Harry to stare blankly after their retreating forms.

"Sir, please… can't this wait until after lunch?"

Draco was so preoccupied looking apologetically over his shoulder at Harry he missed Dumbledore's peculiar expression, those usually light blue eyes darkening, one corner of his mouth twitching.

"No, Draco," he whispered. "I'm afraid it cannot."

Draco stared at Dumbledore incredulously. In all his years at Hogwarts he had _never_ heard the Headmaster speak _any_ pupil's given name alone. Other than Harry, of course.

"But... sir, what's happened? I'm sure it can wait.."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he came to an abrupt stop in a darkened corner of the long corridor that would eventually lead to his office, glancing surreptitiously around to ensure they were in fact alone before leaning down to whisper in a hoarse, strained voice.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, it _can not_ wait. Your mother has..." Dumbledore stopped abruptly as the sound of laughing students came from the distance. "We will be traveling to Malfoy Manor shortly, but first I think it best we step into my office for a brief chat. I'm afraid I have some more difficult questions for you."


	19. The Unexpected

Despite Dumbledore's unmistakable order, Harry did not run along to the Great Hall after the Headmaster led Draco away. Instead he stood for a minute, staring blankly after them. He felt first confused, then annoyed. It took only a brief moment, though, for these to be replaced with a deep, gnawing sense of worry that started in his gut and worked its way up into his chest. There was something wrong with that look in Dumbledore's eyes, and he did not like it a bit. He had seen it before, directed at himself, and it had never meant anything good. And then Harry did something for which he had no explanation; he followed them. He _knew_ this was none of his business, and that likely he was just reading too deeply into the whole situation anyway. But if so, then why had Dumbledore looked so deeply unsettled? What had he meant when he'd said Harry would 'likely' be able to speak with Draco 'briefly' later? It was all very peculiar. Not to mention the fact that, as far as Harry knew, there were few things in life Albus Dumbledore considered more urgent than ham and chicken pie. And so Harry followed them- up stairs and through hallways, all the way to the winding staircase. He arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of Draco before he disappeared up the stairs, Dumbledore presumably a few steps ahead of him. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have blamed the tiny, glistening reflection of light playing off of Draco's cheek as one silent, lonely teardrop. But of course, he strongly doubted it. After all, as far as he knew crying was, strictly speaking, something Malfoys did not do. The staircase came to a an abrupt stop and from somewhere above the sound of a door creaking open and then shut reverberated off the heavy stone walls. And so Harry settled himself as comfortably as he could on the cold, hard floor, and waited.

Over an hour passed as Harry waited for Draco to emerge from the office, his concern for the other boy growing unchecked as time ticked slowly by. At one point he imagined he could hear raised voices from within, but either it was simply a trick of Harry's nervous imagination, or they quieted very quickly. Apart from that, and the brief, distant echo of footsteps, everything was eerily silent. Not once did a single person pass by in the hour and a half that Harry sat, and so it was quite natural that the heavy, grating thump of the staircase coming to a halt made Harry jump.

Draco, however, seemed unaware of any other presence in the corridor and set off at a quick pace towards the dungeons, leaving Harry staring after him even more alarmed than he had been already. Draco _never_ stepped out into a hallway without surreptitiously scanning both directions first. Now he was truly beginning to worry. It was, apparently, Harry's day to worry though, for even as he stood and called to Draco the other boy did not turn. He did not turn as Harry ran after him, or as Harry called his name again, and then again. Instead he kept on walking just shy of a run, through the meandering crowds of students and down to the catacombs of the dungeons. He did not stop, in fact, until Harry at last got close enough to grab at Draco's hand. He missed, ironically enough, but managed to catch the green, knitted sleeve of Draco's jumper. He tugged a little harder than he'd intended, but as they came face to face Harry decided maybe it was more likely than he'd thought that Draco had been crying.

"Draco? Are you... okay?"

Draco's pale brows drew together, creasing his forehead as if he were genuinely surprised to see Harry standing there. Harry thought absently that it made him look impossibly young.

"...Harry?"

A long moment of silence. Draco bit his lip, a nervous gesture that surprised Harry. He wasn't sure he could recall the other boy ever doing that before.

"My.."

Draco's shoulders drooped in an unconscious look of defeat and he stumbled back the half a step needed to lean against the wall.

"She…"

The pale grey eyes, when at last they flickered up to meet Harry's, seemed so open and vulnerable and soft that Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Draco looked lost and confused and perhaps even a bit scared, but as quickly as Harry saw it, it was gone. As a matter of fact, in the seconds that followed Draco disappeared altogether. That is, the Draco that he had come to look to as friend and companion. Standing in his place instead was the Malfoy of the past; the cold, sneering Slytherin he'd loathed. The transformation was instantaneous and complete: Draco's shoulders tensed as he drew himself back up to full his height and his smooth, pale hands curled into ugly fists at his sides. His chin raised high and jaw clenched, Draco stepped away from the wall to sway unsteadily in front of Harry. Even the sneer was in perfect order when at last he spoke. However, despite his general appearance Draco's eyes were still startlingly soft and unusually bright.

"Just.. go away, Harry."

It was a resigned whisper, edged with something that could have been either deepest loathing, or barely-contained despair. Harry couldn't decide which it was, but Draco turned to leave nonetheless, running a nervous hand through his hair as he walked.

"Wait... what's happened? Draco-"

Harry trotted a few steps and reached out before Draco could fully retreat, grabbing his swinging hand and letting their fingers tangle in a fragile grasp. The touch was warm, and reassuring, but Draco recoiled as if Harry had stung him. He did, however, come to a halt.

"I said, go _away_, Harry."

Draco tried to shake off the hand lightly clinging to his own but the fingers tightened a little, and Harry's other hand came up to flutter along Draco's shoulder, as if trying to coax him back to the shy smiles they'd shared just hours earlier.

"Draco, it's okay. You.. you don't have to tell me, but you can- if you want, I mean. I'll understand-"

Harry stumbled back a step as Draco whirled on him, fury turning soft grey eyes cold and steely.

"Shut _up,_ you worthless little prat. I _said_ leave me _alone_! Go on, get out of here!" Draco snarled, pointing down the hall as if Harry were a stray dog begging scraps. "Just run along back to your Tower, Harry. I've more important things to worry about right now."

And with that, he turned and stormed off, leaving Harry staring after him once more. And, perhaps that would have been that. Perhaps Harry would have simply watched him leave and ran back to the Tower feeling hurt and betrayed, convinced Malfoy was still the same Slimy Git he'd always been. Perhaps he would have relinquished his tenuous hold on their new, fragile friendship and sulked away to brood, miserable and alone. Perhaps- save for the single meager fact that despite his harsh words, Draco had still called him 'Harry'. He ran to catch up, and this time Draco stopped so fast Harry nearly barreled right into him. He didn't even bother to turn round and face Harry this time- he just stared at the ceiling, as if it might somehow see his plight and take pity on him. It did not. Instead he gave an exasperated, almost defeated sigh that squeaked a little at the end.

"Err, sod _off_, Harry. I'm warning you.."

Draco tried to growl but choked a bit instead. That was it, he'd had it. In a single, graceful motion he violently shook Harry's hand from his shoulder and tore off down the hall at a flat run. Obviously, he believed the conversation to be over.

And it would have been, except for the fact that that was, without doubt, the most unconvincing warning Harry had ever heard.

"No."

It wasn't yelled, or sobbed, or stuttered, or any of the things Draco had come to associate with Harry being upset. It was loud, but clear and level, spoken calmly and with a sort of authority that drew Draco to an abrupt halt.

"What.. did you say?"

He turned slowly on the spot, panting a little from his brief sprint. He didn't have _time_ for this. He had to get back to his room. Dumbledore would be there soon. He had to _hurry_. But he couldn't. All he could do was stand there and stare incredulously.

Harry was standing straight and steady, his own chin raised, hands clenched into tight fists, eyes blazing, jaw set defiantly and _this_… this wasn't Harry. This was the idiotic courage and the infuriating bravery, even as Draco stalked closer, emotions rising higher with each step.

"I said, _no_. I will not leave you alone."

Something about the sudden display of willfulness; the light in his eyes, the determination, maybe simply the word 'no', but this was no longer just Harry, this was Harry Potter and Draco successfully snarled this time, hair practically standing on end.

"Leave me _alone_."

He spat, turning back down the hall. Draco already had a head start, and he was walking so fast Harry had to begrudingly run a few steps of his own just to keep up. Uh, this was _horrible_. He was... _badgering..._ Draco. That was the only word for it, and it made him feel weak and clingy, and he could certainly understand why the other boy was so desperate to get away. He owed it to Draco, though. Over the years Harry had frequently blustered his friends away when he'd been falling apart and didn't want to burden them- and they had always gladly given him his space. Even on those few occasions when he had genuinely needed badgering. _Draco_ had not been swayed, though. _Draco_ hadn't backed down, not even when Harry had thanked him with a split lip. Draco had been there when he had needed help, and now Harry was going to be there for him.

"No." Harry ran a little faster, following Draco around a corner and into a particularly worn, dingy looking hall. Apparently Draco was hoping to lose him in the maze of old corridors. "Draco, I'm not just going to walk away. Tell me what happened; I can help, I'll understand…."

The turbulent emotions that had been building since his meeting with Dumbledore exploded at that, erupting in a flurry of rage that had Draco whirling, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and slamming him roughly against the corridor wall. He loomed over the shorter, dark haired boy, terrifying in his cold, pale fury, practically spitting. Even then though, Harry did not flinch, and Draco's anger all but doubled for it.

"_Understand_!" He hissed. "You think you could possibly _understand_?" He looked positively savage, eyes huge and wild as he growled in Harry's face. "Do you think you can _understand_ that my mother is dead? Can you _understand_ that it was Voldemort and his _sodding_ Death Eaters who did it?" Harry's eyes widened a little, but beyond that he barely breathed. Draco's grip on his shoulders was vice-like, fingers digging in painfully deep, but Harry dared not so much as breathe; for all his fury Draco looked as if his hold on Harry might be the only thing anchoring him to reality."_Can you_? Can you bloody _understand_ that they _used_ her, and took what they wanted, and when they were done they strung her up like a sodding _animal_, slit her open and left her to die, _alone_, with nothing but a picture of me charmed to float in front of her?"

He'd begun knocking Harry against the wall by the shoulders so hard his glasses were nearly falling off- Draco grabbed them, viciously lobbing them down the hall to skitter across the dusty stone floor. Then he was face to face with those damned green eyes at last, infuriated even further by the way they seemed to dissect him.

"Just because you're Harry _sodding_ Potter, you think you could possibly _understand_ that my mother was murdered because she wouldn't hand me over to Voldemort? That she died trying to save me?! Do you think you could ever fucking _understand_ that!?"

Draco was screaming by then, furious, bearing down on Harry and pinning him against the wall with shocking force. Harry did not break, though, as Draco had obviously been aiming for. Instead he stood perfectly still, crushed against the wall as Draco, red-faced and panting with anger, awaited his answer. Despite the fact that Draco was already nearly flush against him, Harry somehow managed with the little space he had to get his arms free. He did not, however, bother just yet trying to pull the irate boy into a hug- instead, he seemed to suddenly soften all over. All resistence melted under Draco's weight so that instead of crushing Harry, Draco was suddenly reclining against him. Shock briefly made the other boy pliant and it was then Harry took the oppurtunity to slide his hands into the small of Draco's back, firm enough to be reassuring but loose enough the other boy could still pull away if he chose.

"Yes, I do. I probably understand better than most, anyway. Voldemort killed my mum too, remember? They both died trying to save us."

And, simple as that, Draco's knees turned to jelly. It was almost instantaneous- one moment he was ready to physically educate Potter on the importance of personal space, and the next Harry's fragile grip was the only thing keeping him from becoming intimately acquainted with the floor. '_Oh,' _his brain supplied rather uselessly. '_Right.'_ He felt empty. Hollow. Gutted. As if someone had come along with a giant spoon and just scraped out his insides. Like a pumpkin, he thought distractedly. They dipped a little when Draco's legs first gave out, but Harry managed to catch him, shifting their shared weight back against the wall. It took several minutes before Draco even managed the strength needed to lift his arms high enough to return the hug, all the while resting his limp head on top of Harry's own wild hair. He swayed slightly and dipped forward a few times, but with continued thanks to the wall behind him Harry was able, for the most part, to steady them. They stood there hazily, dazedly, for some time- both rather wobbly under the weight of all that had been said. Draco slowly returned to himself, though, and if Harry thought the top of his head was feeling rather wet he did not mention it.

"I have to go pack." Draco's voice sounded hoarse and strange to his own ears after the long silence, and Harry looked up at him quizzically.

"Pack?"

"I'm going home-" He paused at the word, scowling when it left a sour taste in his mouth. "I mean, the Manor. I'm going to the Manor for a week. To help set the family affairs in order and see my mother has a proper burial. I should be back next Sunday."

"Oh."

Harry nodded, unconsciously pulling Draco a little tighter.

"Of course. Do you, umm... Do you happen to know where my glasses ended up?"

Draco looked blankly down at the huge green eyes staring up at him, unobstructed.

"Where your... oh. Oh! Shit, yes, sorry. I'm... not sure. I'll go find them."

Harry nodded again, but it was several more minutes before either boy moved.

The rest of their walk down to Slytherin passed without any further comment. Harry, surreptitiously stealing glances when he could, was unable to decide whether it was a 'companionable' silence or a 'I really really wish you'd go away' silence; judging from the look on Draco's face, Harry at last decided it was most likely a 'my mother was just murdered, I don't exactly feel like talking' silence.

In this assumption Harry was... well, he wasn't _entirely_ wrong. Just mostly. The 'I don't feel like talking' part was true, but this was primarily due to the fact that Draco had not the slightest clue what to say. Harry was also correct in thinking that Draco's silence had to do with his mother's death (obviously), but again Harry was a little off on the details. Though the loss was certainly painful, Draco knew the true grief would not come until later, when he was alone. It had always been that way. No, for the time being Draco was much more concerned with the _reasons_ behind his mother's murder- specifically, how they fit into that 'talking' conundrum he was also facing.

Apart from his late night Room of Requirement confession, Draco had thus far managed to neatly avoid any topic of conversation with Harry in which the name "Voldemort" might ever arise. In that one obligatory conversation he had told Harry he did not want to be a Death Eater, which was true. He had also told Harry that his mother's devotion to Dark Lord was waning in light of Lucius' imprisonment. This was also true. He had taken particular care, in fact, to ensure that _everything_ he said was true. Far easier to remember one censored truth than a nasty web of lies, he'd always believed. No, he was more concerned about what he had _not_ said.

Though the facts themselves were true, Draco had purposely left Harry with the impression that his personal feelings regarding Voldemort actually meant something. As if it were so simple to waltz up to one of the most powerful evil Wizards in history and go 'Oh, nope, sorry- not interested.' He had not told Harry that eventually Voldemort would grow weary of being put off and would, somehow, attempt to force Draco into service. Well, now it seemed he knew the 'somehow' part at least. Draco's throat tightened a little, but he quickly swallowed the lump forming there. Unfortunately, the likelihood of his being forced into the Dark Lord's service hadn't been Draco's only omission. He had also conveniently forgotten to tell Harry about the years of hands-on training his father had already put him through in preparation for a future of Dark magic. Then there was the nasty little matter of his failure to inform anyone when he'd overheard his father planning an ambush in the Department of Mysteries a week or so before it happened. Nor had he thought it prudent to reveal he had personally requested, upon joining the Inquisitorial Squad the year before, that Umbridge have Harry banned from Quidditch. The fight had given her valid grounds for it, but even if Harry hadn't attacked him that game would have been his last of the season. These were just the petty offenses, though. There was one secret in particular that was weighing on Draco's conscience, and now he knew he would have to reveal it sooner, rather than never. At the time of their sole Voldemort-conversation, Draco hadn't expected their... friendship... to last more than a few weeks. With that in mind, revealing the deepest, darkest secrets of his soul had seemed ill-advised. However, now it left him in the awkward position of telling his new enemy-turned-friend-turned-apparent-romantic-interest that Voldemort intended to assign Draco a mission. A mission that would be integral to the Dark Lord's rise to power. A mission that his mother had been secretly trying to protect him from, and for which she was murdered. A mission that he still had no details regarding, but which he figured he would likely be learning about very soon. A mission which would probably involve hurting Harry. A mission that would undoubtedly mean his own death should he fail.

Bitterly thinking back to his 'Pros and Cons' list, Draco decided that 'A dark wizard wants to kill him' might be a bigger 'Con' than he'd anticipated.

While Draco mentally ran circles over what to tell Harry, the boy in question remained absolutely, blessedly, worryingly silent. Draco had been dreading the outpouring of pity and sympathy he had thought would be standard Gryffindor issue, but Harry did not ask questions, or say he was sorry, or expect Draco to cry. Instead, he offered a quiet kind of comfort that Draco hadn't dreamt could exist and which all but tripled his guilt. He _still_, however, had no idea what to say. Even after they'd returned to Draco's room and set about the task of hurriedly packing his things, Draco could not for the life of him think what to tell Harry. So, he just didn't say anything, until at last his trunk was closed and locked. And then he stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room, fidgeting and unable to meet Harry's eyes. He knew Dumbledore would be there soon and then he wouldn't see Harry again for seven long days- would it be better to spill his secrets now and hope that the week of separation might be enough to allow things to blow over, or would that just give them both time to brood? Should he wait, then? That would at least give Harry the opportunity to ask questions, and perhaps even allow himself the chance to explain. Yes, and Draco supposed he really did owe Harry a proper explanation, as well as the chance to hex him, should the Gryffindor so choose. Just then Draco was truly feeling as if he deserved it.

"So, you'll be gone a week then?"

Harry asked conversationally from his perch at the end of Draco's bed, obviously searching for a way the break the silence that was fast becoming oppressive.

"Yeah. I'll be back next Sunday. The 12th."

Harry nodded, and began examining his shoes. Quiet again. Draco watched Harry for a while longer, still playing obsessively through possible scenarios in his mind. None of them ended well. Finally, with a dejected sigh he surrendered, sinking down on the bed next to Harry and flopping onto his back amongst the pillows. To his elated horror Harry actually followed suit, lying down on his stomach almost flush against Draco's side and propping his head on his hands so he could look down into Draco's pale, exhausted face.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Draco hated himself. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and bit his tongue and hated himself so much it literally made him feel ill. He turned his head a bit, opening his eyes once more to tell Harry.. something. Perhaps that no, there wasn't anything he could do. Perhaps that he didn't deserve the casual intimacy and obvious trust Harry exuded. Perhaps that Harry should run while he had the chance. Whatever he had meant to say died instantly, though, as he came face to face once more with those shocking green eyes- so open, so trusting, so beautiful. He shifted back a little, uncertainly- though his dreams just the night before had been vastly more graphic than Harry's warm, concerned face resting inches from his own, somehow the contrast made this seem even more intimate. And, as if that weren't enough, his small movement had caused the pillows to shift and Harry dipped sideways into him a little so they were pressed firmly together, shoulder to foot. Harry was warm, so warm, and a little squirmy, but he didn't seem to be shifting away. On the contrary- Harry was settling in against him, once more seeming to meld himself around Draco's own rigid form. Once more. The hallway. Somehow, the fact that he had just had Harry alone, pinned to a wall not a half hour earlier hadn't exactly processed with so many other ...things.. on his mind. But now, well, it seemed his mind was processing just fine: Harry's chin was now resting half on Draco's chest, half on his own folded arm. Harry's sharp hip was digging into his own through a few measely layers of fabric. Harry's soft skin was brushing against his where the sleeve of his jumper had bunched up. Harry's slightly-pink, smiling face- still so very close to his own. So close he could feel those tiny breaths on his face, which he guiltily realized felt exactly the same as they had in his dream. So close he could see that despite the smile a slight furrow of worry creased Harry's forehead, just beside his scar. An intense wave of shuddering heat was melting through Draco, suffusing deep into his blood and making his skin tingle at every point of contact between them. The memory of the sweet, brief, rain-flavored kiss they'd shared the week before came suddenly flashing to the forefront of his mind, chasing away the guilt and worry. It was so _unfair_ that he hadn't really been able to enjoy it at the time, and even worse to think Harry had no recollection of it at all. And then he was struck with the overwhelming urge to feel those lips again, to taste them, to part them with his tongue and explore Harry's mouth with his own. He was distantly aware that he was inching slowly closer to Harry and that the other boy's brow was now obviously creased with worry. He thought perhaps Harry had asked him something along the lines of whether he was alright, but he couldn't find the presence of mind to answer, or to stop.

"Draco, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Harry's hand, which came to rest tentatively on Draco's chest, did little to anchor either boy any further to reality. The frantic pounding beneath Harry's palm instead drew them both in further, clouding the boundaries that were being crossed, dismissing the worry building in Harry's mind and the guilt still burning in Draco's chest. Draco's breath caught in his throat as that hand slowly fluttered up his throat, stroking pale blonde wisps of hair out of his face, caressing his cheek, his forehead. Neither was sure exactly when Harry had ended up on his back, Draco leaning over him, grey eyes searching green. It didn't seem strange to either of them when Draco once more removed Harry's glasses (though he was decidedly gentler about it this time) and placed them aside to trace soft cheeks and firm jaw with his thumb. Harry closed his eyes, sighing softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and Draco couldn't resist the terrible temptation any longer, leaning slowly down to claim those lips once and for all, inches away from Harry's oblivious, sweetly smiling face when a knock at the door sent them springing apart. Harry blinked dazedly, looking as if he'd just woken from a particularly pleasant dream, and Draco could not stand to look at him. _Fuck_. He was supposed to be telling Harry about Voldemort, and the mission, and his mother's death, and instead he'd nearly _kissed_ him. Draco took a deep, shaky breath, vainly attempting to quell the guilt, horror, and excitement flooding his veins at the mere thought of what he'd been seconds from doing.

"Come in.."

Draco's hand flew to his mouth as his voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat, desperately hoping that he hadn't sounded anywhere near as prepubescent out loud as he had to his own ears. From Pansy's raised eyebrows, apparently he did.

"Now you've got Dumbledore waiting for you down in the common room. Very popular today, aren't you? He wants to know if you're _ready_. Are you going somewhere and forgot to tell me?"

All of this, of course, was directed to Draco. However, Pansy seemed to be engaged in a staring contest of sorts with Harry, blatantly scrutinizing his slightly rumpled state and lack of glasses. Harry just squinted at her, looking slightly embarrassed and feeling around blindly behind him for the glasses in question. Draco cleared his throat again, just for good measure.

"Yes, I am leaving, Pansy. No, I did not forget to tell you; it is... extremely short notice, I assure you. I will explain upon my return next Sunday. Be a dear and tell Dumbledore I'll be right down."

The dismissive tone in Draco's voice certainly did well to bring her attention back to him, and she glared for a moment before turning and storming off, slamming the door behind her. When Harry looked over, Draco was holding out his glasses, smiling.

"Don't know how much longer she'll let me get away with that. I suppose I should be a little nicer to her."

Harry lightly tugged at a thin silver chain around his neck that Draco had never seen before; it was so delicate he would never have noticed it if not for the very distracting way Harry was fiddling with it.

"Do you love her?"

Draco had been so consumed watching Harry's fragile little bird hands play with that thread of silver that he nearly made an unattractive noise of incomprehension. The look on Harry's face, though, was even more startling. Apprehension, fear and was that… a glint of hope he saw in Harry's eyes? No, certainly not. But then Harry bit his lip and looked up at Draco from beneath messy black bangs and he wasn't so sure. He gingerly sat back down beside Harry, who had returned to laying on his stomach across Draco's bed. Under normal circumstances Draco would not have done what he did next, but the memory of how _close_ they'd been to kissing and the thought that he wouldn't see Harry again for a full week made him bold; starting at Harry's shoulder he stroked slowly, feather-light down the other boy's back, letting his hand come to rest in the warm dip where Harry's shirt had ridden up a bit, just above his trousers. The gesture was infinitely more intimate in practice than Draco had thought it would be in theory, but by then it was too late. Thankfully Harry's smile brightened, if anything, and the tension seemed to edge away a little.

"She's... my best friend. Since childhood. Her and Blaise both. But no Harry, I don't. At least, not in the way I think you mean. Let's just say… she's not exactly my type."

Draco smiled, Harry blushed, and Draco nearly growled in frustration. It would have been so _easy_ to simply pull him close right then and snog him senseless, but Draco held back. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Well hell, it wasn't _supposed_ to happen at all, but certainly not like this. He knew that once he confessed there wasn't a chance in hell that Harry would let him near enough to look, let alone touch, but if he took advantage of Harry's naivety he'd likely get his bits hexed off. And, rightly so, he conceded. But he _could_ convince Harry, he _knew_ it. There had to be a way. Malfoys didn't _do_ unrequited. He inched in a little closer, but stopped himself just as quickly. No, even with everything they had been through, and _knowing_ they had already kissed, this was much too big a step to rush. He hadn't even made a plan yet… and then he remembered. The List. It was still under his bed. Shit. He couldn't just leave it; what if a house elf found it? Or worse… his roommates?

"Harry, could you go down and tell Dumbledore I'll be just another minute? I've just got to get my wand and I'll be right down."

The instant Harry was gone Draco was down on the floor, groping around in the dark expanse of dust under his bed until at last he found the List. _Yes._ He quickly tucked it away in the safety of his trunk, though he was beginning to think he might be better off just burning the thing. He sighed. No time at the moment, though. He quickly cast the charms to lock and lighten his trunk before stumbling out the door, hauling his things down to the common room as quickly as his weakened knees could manage.


	20. The Feelings

After Draco's departure, Monday and Tuesday passed by without further incident. Wednesday marked the start of a new chapter in Potions- one that Harry found himself hopelessly incapable of understanding in the absence of Draco's tutoring. That night he studied in the library for a very long time with very little success, and eventually ended up dozing off amongst the stacks of books and parchment. Thursday morning Harry overslept, missed breakfast, was late to Charms, caused his cauldron to explode in Potions and received detention. He then subsequently missed lunch being lectured by Snape. Due to the impending winter holiday Friday saw an exam in nearly every class- all of which Harry was certain he thoroughly failed. And as if all that weren't enough, Saturday night at dinner Ron simply would not shut _up_ about Quidditch and the fact that the team had agreed to meet over Christmas to practice (though Harry did secretly agree they could use all the help they could get). Hermione seemed to find Ron's waffle absolutely enthralling, though, and left her plate untouched in favor of clutching the sleeve of his robe enthusiastically, smiling distantly all the while. Harry gagged a little, and reminded himself to admonish Draco for being negligent in upholding his end of their bargain- Harry was _trying_ to eat, but a few more minutes of watching Ron attempt to flex an imaginary bicep while Hermione giggled like a mad horse was going to make him puke.

He found it a bit of a mixed blessing when at last they disappeared down towards Snape's office after dinner- on the one hand Harry was deeply glad to be rid of them. But on the other... he was beginning to feel a bit lonely. He wandered around the Tower for a little while, strolling by the propped open doors, peering into rooms full of smiling, laughing students packing their trunks for the next day's departure. Ginny, he noticed a little sadly, seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. Likewise Neville, Dean, Seamus and all the other boys he would normally have gone to next were camped out in a 7th year's room- Harry wasn't sure exactly what they were doing, but it seemed to involve a lot of yelling and very loud laughter. So instead he went back down to pace the common room, uncertain what to do. Harry briefly considered going down to visit Hagrid, but it was so cold outside, and to get there he would have to pass the Quidditch Pitch. Alone. In the dark. Harry shuddered a little and very quickly dismissed the thought. Luna, perhaps? No, he seriously doubted she would do anything to calm his already frayed nerves. Then there was... Oh. No, then there wasn't. That was it. He was out of friends. Harry sighed, folding his legs beneath him and sinking down onto the thick carpet in front of the fire. Certainly he'd been alone for most of the week, but at least then there had been studying and lessons and plenty of other distractions. Now he wasn't just alone- he was utterly, miserably lonely.

Studying and lessons hadn't been Harry's only distractions, though. As the week had dragged on, he had found himself thinking more and more about Draco. He'd catch himself drifting off in class wondering how the other boy was feeling, or stare blankly into a bowl of soup, absently wondering what Draco might be thinking about just then. He'd wonder if Draco might send him an owl, or if perhaps the other boy even missed him at all. He even wondered if Draco might be feeling as lonely as he himself was. Not once, however, did he wonder why he should be so concerned. In fact, Harry found it felt completely natural to drift off thinking about the other boy, mentally counting down the hours until Draco was due to return. And so, after a long, cold, painful week of isolation, Harry drifted to sleep Saturday night to thoughts of Draco's impeding return, less than a day away.

~*~

_A tall figure towered overhead, dark, darker than the shadows all around, too dark for Harry to see. The shadow moved, circling around the weak beam of light in which Harry sat alone, cornered and afraid. Another shadow now, two dark figures circling, a third, a fourth. Pain lanced through him, originating from a point in the back of his skull, growing and expanding until it encompassed his entire body and his vision swam with it, darkening and blurring. The shadows were laughing now, drawing closer, hands grabbing at every place where cloth or skin crossed into darkness, pulling him into the shadows, ripping at his clothes, his skin. He tried to resist, struggled to break away, fought to crawl back into the tiny circle of light. The hands were everywhere, though, yanking and tearing. Harry had nearly clawed his way back into the circle when he made the mistake of looking up. There, just beyond the dancing motes of dust swirling in the hazy light, was another shadow, taller than them all, radiating a kind of cold that froze Harry from the very core of his being, making him shiver from head to foot. He was paralyzed, even as one pale, bony hand reached through the barrier of light, caressing his sweat-dampened forehead, breaching what little sense of safety he'd had. "Honestly, Harry… did you think it was just a dream?" A voice low and close and familiar tickled his ear and Harry whirled, coming face to-_

Harry's eyes bolted open the second the curtains around his bed were pulled back, blurry eyes searching in the dark. Immediately, even half blind as he was, his vision focused on what had startled him and he froze, eyes widening, heartbeat coming faster and faster and it was as if he hadn't even woken up at all. There, peering through the gap in his curtains was the very same face from his dream; the same red hair and freckled hands and crooked smile. The same cold, dark, expressionless eyes.

"R…Ron?"

Harry struggled from beneath the blankets, shrinking back against the headboard and groping for the bedside table, feeling for his glasses, his wand- anything. There was no sound beyond the hammering of Harry's heart in his own ears as the mattress dipped and the shadowy, black-cloaked form crawled across the bed towards him on hands and knees. Harry's scrambling hand found his glasses, but clumsily knocked them to the floor in his haste. He squinted blindly, trying to make out the face more clearly as it crept forward, stalked closer, and now above his own accelerating breaths he could hear a deeper, raspier wheeze.

"_Who are you_?"Harry gasped, slipping backwards through the hangings and out of bed to land on the cold floor with a jarring thud. He whimpered a little on impact, but quickly found his glasses and shoved them on his face. He scrambled to regain his feet beneath him, but found he was too disoriented to stand. This wasn't, couldn't be real. "_Wake up, Harry, just a dream just a dream, come on, wake up." _Harry shook himself as sleep began to fade and he truly looked around for the first time. The room was silent other than the usual snores, and in the dim light he could see no sign of an intruder. Had it really just been a dream? It must have. He had still been dreaming and fell out of bed from thrashing around. That was the only explanation. There was no way someone had broken into the Tower just to crawl eerily across his bed in the middle of the night. Harry, still sitting on the floor, gave a self-depreciating chuckle as his racing heart slowed a little. Yes, a dream, he had still been dreaming.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and then he looked up to see the bed hangings slowly flutter apart. From the shadows emerged a hand- reaching, groping, clawing the air. Harry froze, staring in slack-jawed horror as the blood drained slowly from his face. The hand reached down, pale and freckled, cold as it brushed his cheek and Harry was crawling backwards frantically, shaking his head in disbelief, barely out of reach and on his feet, running as fast as he could from the room, not even thinking to make a grab at his wand or his Invisibility Cloak. In his panicked haste, Harry completely missed the other shadowed form standing just beyond his bed curtains, or the fact that Ron's bed next to his own was occupied.

Harry didn't know what was happening or where he was going, but he knew he had to get out and he had to get out _now_. He was vaguely aware that the floor of the corridor was near frozen and the rough stones were cutting into his cold, bare feet so badly he thought they might be bleeding. Dim moonlight was filtering in through the windows Harry darted by, and it gave the narrow hallways a hazy, smoky look that made the shadows appear as if they were dancing. He shook his head and kept running, almost to the staircase when a sharp, sudden gust of icy wind whipped past him down the hall, rattling the portraits as it bit through his thin pajamas to gnaw at his bones. He shivered, but he could not stop running, dared not slow or pause or hesitate...

... because he was being followed.

The loud, steady click of shoes against stone echoed along behind him, the swish of fabric, the panting of breath, so close, always barely out of sight but growing closer with each fumbled step. Panic was rising sick and bitter in Harry's throat, his heart racing painfully fast, chest heaving. The steps behind him were coming faster, louder and closer and he broke into a sprint, practically whimpering when he heard the steps behind him quicken as well. He ran down countless flights of stairs, hoping desperately that maybe, just maybe the staircase behind him might move and throw his hunter off the course, praying even more furiously that the staircase in front of him wouldn't move and stop his path. His wishes went half answered in the end and the stairs all remained eerily still.

The whole castle, in fact, was silent and unmoving save the sound of Harry's desperate feet, hammering heart- and the footsteps, always close behind. He was nearing the main floor, he noticed dazedly, and with a surge of panic realized that there was not much farther he could run. Dungeons? No, he didn't know the corridors well enough, he'd likely just get himself trapped. Outside? No, he'd freeze to death before they even bloody caught him. One more corner was all he had, one more hall and he'd be trapped, cornered; he didn't even have his wand. What to do, where to go? No, no, no… so _close_. Harry's chest was tightening, legs aching, blood so high on adrenaline and low on oxygen he could barely see, vision swimming before him. He stumbled a little as the vertigo started to take hold, wheezing as his lungs began to lose pace with the rest of him.

"_No_," he silently begged. "_Not.. like this, please... not like this.."_

Harry choked on a sob and in doing so lost what little balance he'd had left; though still running as fast as he could manage his right knee buckled a little and it sent him dipping sideways. He clipped his shoulder against the wall but caught himself, just barely, though it took all his will to keep from crying out at the dull impact. "_This is it, no, no have to fight, yell, something, anything, not like this, not like this..._" Harry rounded the corner into the entryway and flew blindly into something, crying out when it grabbed him. "_No!" _his mind screamed, but he had so little air it came out as a wheeze. He thrashed and clawed weakly, nearly faint from lack of air but defiant to the last breath he had, gathering the little of his strength left to scream when suddenly he heard the most perfect sound he could ever imagine:

"Harry?"

Harry blinked dazedly and nearly collapsed backwards, practically melting with relief as he registered that smooth, silky drawl, those pale grey eyes lit with sudden fear and alarm. Draco. Safe… _safe_… oh, _Draco_…

"Harry? _Harry_, are you… _Merlin_, what's wrong? What's happened?"

Draco frantically pried Harry off him enough to look into his tear-streaked, terror-stained face. Above the sound of Harry's panting, whimpering gasps Draco suddenly caught another noise- rapidly retreating footsteps, echoing down the corridor Harry had just come from. Other footsteps. Someone else. Realization burned Draco's useless limbs into action and as quick as he was able he stumbled forward with Harry still clinging to him and strained to look around the corner, catching the briefest glimpse of billowing black robes before they disappeared up a flight of stairs. The footsteps continued, and the staircase swung away from the corridor with a groan of protest.

"What- _Harry_... shit, are you okay? Are you hurt? Harry..."

Now Draco was truly panicking, torn, wanting to make sure Harry was safe but needing to chase after whoever that was- they were getting away! He had to hurry! Harry's legs had given out, though, and he was slumped ragdoll-like against Draco's chest. Draco stumbled forward another step to prop Harry against the wall but trembling fingers clung to his chest.

"No, please... please don't go… please… please don't leave me alone…" Harry whispered weakly, swaying a little.

The staircase re-attached itself somewhere with a deep, resounding thud and the sound of footsteps died away into the distance. It was too late, too late and Harry was sobbing into his chest. Draco's heart twisted painfully as he pulled Harry tightly against him, stroking the other boy's hair back. His mind was racing to catch up with everything that had just happened, trying to process a situation too huge and surreal to comprehend. There had been someone _there_, someone that might have hurt Harry, Harry who was still clinging to him, still crying, still shaking. The chance had come and gone in the blink of an eye for him to catch whoever this was and put a stop to Harry's torture once and for all. He'd missed it, though, and all that was left was the harsh reality of Harry cold and terrified and holding tightly to him in the entrance hall. He sighed.

"I won't, Harry. I won't go."

Draco slid his arms beneath Harry's and drew the boneless boy back against his chest. Harry just clung to him all the tighter and Draco couldn't help but press a silent, discrete kiss into the soft black hair, more for his own reassurance than anything else.

"Can you stand on your own?"

Harry shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Okay, just... okay, hold on."

Draco looked around desperately for a moment before sighting his trunk not far behind.  
Slowly, carefully, he shuffled them over and sat Harry down on the lid of the trunk, kneeling on the floor in front of him so they were nearly face to face.

"Bloody hell..."

Draco brushed back the tangled bangs hiding Harry's face, flinching a little himself when the other boy recoiled. Harry was quickly transitioning from terrified trembling to violent shivers from the drafty halls, and Draco shortly joined him when he removed his cloak in favor of tucking it snugly around Harry's shoulders.

"Draco... please, I can't go back. I can't, please, don't make me. Please..."

Harry's eyes looked slightly wild in the dim light, mild hysteria clear in his voice. Draco flushed a little and dropped his gaze uncomfortably, overpowered by the fear fairly pouring off of Harry. However, as he did this he noticed the other boy's feet- bare, slightly blue and leaving a trail of tiny red footprints behind them.

"Oh, Harry..." Draco winced, sadly, slowly looking up, sighing and leaning forward. He bumped their foreheads lightly together and gently cupped the back of the other boy's head, stroking a soothing thumb down the side of Harry's neck. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He turned and offered Harry his back, but it quickly became apparent that even the simple act of holding on required too much strength for Harry just then. They fumbled around for a few minutes, but in the end Draco found it easiest to carry him front-to-front, Harry's noodley pajama-clad legs wrapped loosely around his waist and frozen feet pressed into the arch of his back. Draco couldn't help but think that under less dire circumstances this would have been... rather nice.

Thoughts like that could not linger long, though, with Harry's hands biting into his back and a cold wet patch growing on his shoulder. In fact, no thoughts could linger at all other than how painfully, unbelievably lucky it had been that he'd decided to return to school a few hours early.

Harry's heart was still racing by the time they reached the Slytherin common room, and even once he was bundled in blankets and settled on the sofa beside the fire he could not stop shaking.

"Here, drink this… it'll help."

Draco firmly pressed a steaming mug in Harry's limp hands, sitting down beside him on the couch.

"A potion?"

Harry sniffed the liquid uncertainly.

"No, lavender tea. It'll help you feel better and warm you up, too. You're practically frozen; lucky your toes didn't fall off."

Harry smiled a little at this, staring into the fire and sipping at the warm, earthy tea. The combination of the heat and the soothing sweetness spread slowly with each sip, thawing his frozen extremities and drawing out the fear and tension until there was nothing left but exhaustion.

"How did you know this would help?" Harry looked up blearily, eyes still red and swollen from crying, so heavy with fatigue it looked as if he could barely keep them open. Draco moved a little closer, pulling one of the blankets so it covered him as well.

"My mother had an herb garden back at the Manor. That's where I brought this from, actually. When I was little she would make me this tea when I was scared or couldn't sleep or I'd had a nightmare. It always made me feel better, no matter what…"

Draco's voice trailed off as he took the half-empty cup dangling precariously from Harry's hands. Already the other boy was dozing off, though admittedly that in itself was not very surprising. Draco had to restrain himself from waking Harry up, anxious as he was to ask about what had sent the other boy running terrified and half-dressed through the freezing hallways late at night, and whether he had been correct in his assumption that Harry had been followed. Draco worried his lower lip between his teeth. As if he had to ask. The hairs along the back of his neck seemed to hum at the mere thought and he had to force himself yet again to stop imagining what might have happened had he not been in the right place at the right time. No, there was no use thinking about it right then. He _had_ been there and Harry _was_ safe. Safe and exhausted. There would be plenty of time to discuss what had happened come morning. Besides, with nearly the entire school leaving the next day for winter holiday there would be no classes to worry about, and no distractions.

Guiding Harry's sleep-heavy head to rest on his shoulder, Draco sipped at the remaining tea, savoring the sweet warmth as he recalled what his mother had told him on the one occasion he'd dared asked about the lavender himself.

"_There's nothing magic about the flower at all_," she had whispered, petting his near-white, down-soft hair when another peel of lightening lit the room. "_It's just a plain muggle plant. No, the magic is in the people sharing the tea. By sharing the tea, you share the feelings you have for one another. That's how it makes you feel calm._" There was a tenderness in the memory that hadn't been there a week before, and he caught himself wishing he'd been able to talk to her about this. About Harry. About his father. It was too late, though. She had given him all the answers she had and all the knowledge she possessed. Now it was up to him to make of it what he could.

Harry gave a soft snore against Draco's shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. He smiled and took another sip of the cooling tea, letting the strain slowly ebb from his own shoulders as well.

"It's not magic that makes the tea work..." He whispered. "It's just… the love. That's what my mother always told me, anyway. I use to think she was just making it up, like mothers tend to do. But now… I'm not so sure."

Draco trailed off thoughtfully, placing the cup down on the table. He burrowed his arms beneath Harry's unconscious form and scooped up the still-too-light Gryffindor, carrying him carefully up the stairs to the 6th year Slytherin boys' dormitories, trunk once more in tow. He struggled a little maneuvering them through the creaky door, but eventually he managed and nudged his still-lightened luggage towards the bed with his leg. Draco briefly considered going back down and sleeping on the sofa in the common room, but he quickly decided against it. He might be good, but he wasn't _that_ good. In the dark Draco managed to locate his pajama trousers in his trunk, but his shirt seemed to be hiding. He dug around for a few minutes, but eventually gave up in favor of crawling into bed beside Harry, drawing the curtains shut around them and pulling up the covers. For the most part, he tried to keep to his side of the bed throughout the night, but he found it to be a rather difficult task.

~*~

Harry groaned softly in his sleep, tossing his head in protest. The intruder was heedless of Harry's discomfort though, piercing through the curtains to stab into his closed eyes, blinding him. "_Huh..m..mnah.." _Harry garbled, batting at the curtains uselessly with one hand, throwing the other across his face. If anything, though, he succeeded only in letting more of the stupid sunlight in through the stupid, useless curtains, so with a 'huff' of surrender he groggily flopped over onto his other side and buried his face in his pillow. Blindly groping for the edge of a blanket, he drew it up over his head, sighing softly as he drifted slowly back to sleep. That is, until his pillow squirmed beneath him, and a sleep-heavy arm slid around to circle his waist. Harry's eyes flew open and he lay very very still, green gaze darting around to quickly assess the situation: a smooth, pale expanse of bare chest was resting beneath his cheek, and it continued down into a long stretch of equally smooth, pale stomach that disappeared into the covers. Green covers. Not his bed. Gingerly, Harry lifted the blanket enough to peer lower, releasing a slight sigh of relief to find they were both still wearing trousers at least. With equal caution Harry looked up, taking in the sleep-softened features, closed eyes and ruffled blonde hair. Draco. Okay, no need to panic. Harry thought back, trying to remember exactly how… oh yes. Right. The... person, in his room. Harry shivered all over at the hazy memory, tucking his face into the curve of Draco's neck before he even realized what he was doing. Acute embarrassment flushed Harry's cheeks when he realized how terribly clingy he was being, but even in sleep Draco gave him no chance to be self depreciating- the arm around Harry's waist tightened, pulling him even closer as Draco rubbed his face into messy black hair.

Harry couldn't help but smile.

With no clock in sight Harry had no way of knowing exactly how long he lay awake, but it felt like hours. At first it had seemed a little strange just laying there while Draco slept, but he hadn't had much choice- just beyond the thin curtains he could hear Draco's roommates stumbling from their beds one at a time to begin dressing and packing the last of their things, and Harry didn't dare make himself known. Not after the less-than-warm welcome he'd received the last time. Besides, then there would be questions, and even if Harry had felt inclined to share (which he most certainly did not), there wasn't much he could say other than "_Umm, I had a nightmare, and then it came to life and a shadow chased me through the school in my pajamas."_ No, he was definitely staying where he was, even if Draco was laying half on top of him and drooling a little on his forehead. Harry was only mildly surprised to find himself smiling again. It quickly fell, though, when a voice just beyond the curtains whispered:

"Should I wake him?"

Harry froze, looking around frantically. _Fuck_. He tugged at the blanket, hoping to hide himself, but it seemed at some point Draco had shifted so he was laying across the blankets as well and he could not pull them back up without making any noise. Well, if they opened the curtains just then, they were going to be in for a very nasty surprise, he mused bitterly.

"Don't be daft, Crabbe. Unless you want it to be _your_ intestines they're scraping off the ceiling at the end of the year." Harry listened as Blaise, he guessed, neared the bed. The other boy's voice dropped to a whisper as well, and Harry couldn't help but think he sounded a little... sad. No, surely not. That was a Gryffindor sort of sentiment. "Besides, what's the point? Not like he's going to miss the carriages." No, not sad- 'despondent,' Harry realized, was the word he was looking for. Blaise sounded... despondent.

A third voice joined in then, also disturbingly close to the curtains. Harry was really beginning to get nervous but he also, rather guiltily, found he was becoming dreadfully curious.

"Whatd'ya mean?"

Someone snorted derisively, and Harry guessed that was Blaise too.

"Well, Goyle, what do you think? He left with Dumbledore, on no notice at all, and missed all of the winter exams. He just got back last night- very late, considering we were all asleep already, and he brought his entire trunk back with him. Do you really think, if he was going to be returning home for the holidays, that he would be in there snoring right now with his trunk out here hanging open and clothes strewn about? No, something... happened. Something bad. Maybe if we're lucky he'll tell us after the holiday."

Harry felt his arms around Draco tightening but couldn't stop himself. Draco hadn't told them yet?

What was worse, though, was that in all his thinking about the other boy over the past week it had never once occurred to him to wonder where Draco would be spending Christmas now that his mother was... gone. In fact, Harry hadn't really felt much like thinking about Christmas at all- Ron hadn't invited him to the Burrow that year, and there was no chance he'd return to the Dursley's by choice, so it was going to be another Hogwarts Christmas. Not that it really mattered. Not after last year. Not after... Sirius. Harry felt the familiar combination of guilt and despair building in his chest, but he shook himself a little, pushing it away. No, this year... this year would be different. This year he might get to spend Christmas with Draco, and just the idea made him a little giddy.

Harry lay smiling and tucked warmly against Draco's side for a while longer, his mind far away with thoughts of Christmas and the prospect of spending three weeks almost entirely alone with Draco Malfoy. Funny, not so very long ago he probably would have _preferred_ the Dursleys to such a fate, but now... no. Harry stopped himself abruptly, his smile slowly fading. _No_, what was he _doing_? He shouldn't assume things like that. He shouldn't assume that Blaise was right. And even if he was, that didn't necessarily mean they'd be spending Christmas together. What if Draco had just returned to make up his exams and would be leaving again in a few days? Or even if he did stay, what if Draco just wanted to be alone? What if he hadn't even wanted to see Harry the night before? If he was still mad about their argument in the hall the previous Sunday? No, far better to just wait and see for himself than to assume and set himself up for disappointment. Harry deflated a little as the butterflies that had sprung to life in his stomach died very quickly. '_Idiot,'_ he cursed himself, turning his face away and into the pillows.

A loud creak greeted Harry's souring mood, followed by a muted 'click' as the door was carefully slid shut. Then, silence. Apparently Harry had been so distracted he had not even heard the dreaded roommates leave. He still wasn't quite convinced it was safe to venture out, though- what if they came back? It was certainly a possibility (a horrible one, too), but Harry was quickly beginning to feel miserable again and the thought of laying there with Draco any longer, not knowing how the other boy even felt towards him just then, was making Harry feel claustrophobic. In the end he opted to carefully disentangle himself from the sleep-clingy arms fastened around his middle and peek out through the curtains. Through the gap that had previously let in the stupid, blinding sunlight Harry could see one of the other beds- the curtains had been fastened back, the covers sloppily pulled up and there was no trunk in sight. Good. Shifting towards the foot of the bed, Harry looked out once more to see the other two beds in a similar state, trunks also missing. Very good.

Harry slipped out between the curtains and very quickly regretted it, hissing a little when he stepped down onto the very cold stone floor. His feet felt like they were on _fire_. Oh, lovely, and there was blood. He stared down at the offending appendages blearily for several long moments before his memory caught up with him. Right, sprinting through Hogwarts barefoot- bad idea. Harry ran both hands through his hair before linking them at the back of his head, leaning back to instead stare at the ceiling, sighing. Lovely, just bloody lovely. He was beginning to feel rather despondent himself. "_No, no use thinking like that_," he mentally shook himself. "_I'd be standing here all day." _It was then Harry realized his feet weren't the only thing cold (or in significant discomfort)- the dungeons were _freezing_. Harry surreptitiously eyed the door that he assumed led to the adjoining bathroom, thinking that a shower was suddenly starting to sound like a brilliant idea. Another sweep of the room confirmed his earlier observation that Draco's roommates were not planning on returning, and if he knew Draco as well as he thought he did it would be at least another hour or two before the other boy woke up.

The thought of actually using the Slytherin showers was a little disconcerting, but nowhere near so much as the thought of walking through Hogwarts in his pajamas to get back to Gryffindor Tower. Actually, the thought of returning to the Tower at all was rather unappealing at the moment. That still left one dilemma though- clothes. He certainly wasn't going to spend the day in rumpled pajamas, but the only other option was...

Harry stared at Draco's unlocked, half-open trunk and its leaking contents- the sleeve of a green shirt was dangling limply from the unfastened lid and it seemed to be beckoning Harry closer, luring him with the promise of clean laundry. Surely it would be alright. Certainly nothing to wake Draco over. It wasn't as if the other boy would mind- he'd let Harry borrow his clothes before, down by the Quidditch Pitch. And besides, if there was anything horribly private, Draco would have locked it. That was just how he was. So really, what could it hurt?

The lid squeaked a little when Harry opened it, and as he winced he couldn't help but wonder why everything in the wizarding world had to squeak. Shouldn't there be a charm for that? No noise came from within the bed, though, so Harry simply shrugged and began sifting through the mess of clothes. There was certainly no shortage of shirts and jumpers, and after minimal digging Harry found a rather soft grey one that looked as if it might fit passably well.

Trousers, however, were another story altogether. Each pair Harry found were not only too loose on his laughably narrow hips, but far too long as well. He kept digging, hoping vainly that somewhere in the vastly expanded interior of the trunk he might find something as mundane as muggle blue-jeans which he might roll up. There were none, of course, but he had just spotted a rather promising pair of black ones towards the far back corner when he happened to push aside a roll of parchment, which happened to unroll just the smallest bit. Just enough for Harry to catch a glimpse of his name. Cautiously peeking back through the curtains to make sure Draco was still asleep, Harry picked up the parchment, unrolling it to reveal what looked like… a list of some kind?

_"Harry Potter; Pros and Cons"_

Harry's face went blank.

He stared at the sentence, reading it a second and then a third time, just to be sure. Yes, that was definitely his name, followed by 'Pros and Cons', and below that questionable title there were two columns, one very long one, and another shorter one that had been mostly scribbled out. He looked first to the non-scribbled column:

_1) He's nice._

Harry's brow furrowed. _Nice_?

_2) He's funny… sometimes._

What on earth...

_3) He's sort of smart sometimes. At certain things._

Harry scoffed a little, unsure if he should feel flattered or offended. So, what, _most_ of the time he was stupid?

_4) He's the Savior of the Wizarding World._

Something inside Harry sank at reading this. Oh, of course. There it was. Again. It always came down to that, didn't it? It was always about stupid bloody Voldemort and the stupid bloody scar and...

5) _He's... physically appealing._

Wait, what? Draco thought he was... _physically appealing_? What did that even mean? As Harry read on, though, he began to develop a pretty good idea of just what Draco might have been referring to, and it seemed to involve copious amounts of dessert-type foods, his Gryffindor tie and black silk sheets.

As he read, Harry could feel his face going scarlet. It was a list. A list of things about _him_, written by Draco. It was a compilation of increasingly risque comments that seemed to tread the incredibly thin line between complimentary and offensive, and Harry was left to draw only one natural conclusion. It seemed Draco was trying to determine whether he would be a good... partner.... in bed. Harry's eyes were beginning to sting, but he couldn't look away. Was that really all Draco had wanted all along? Was that the reason behind the hugs, and the long talks? All along Draco had just wanted a quick shag? But... studying together? Trying to get Harry back on the team? All just for... sex. It hurt worse than Harry ever could have imagined. It felt like... like betrayal, somehow, even though he should have known. He should have known, it was _Malfoy_ after all, he should have-

And then he noticed there was more parchment still curled around his fingers. He hesitated a moment, unsure if he was really up to any more surprises that morning, but eventually he unrolled the last few inches of the scroll. It looked to be a letter of some sort:

_Harry,  
_

_I don't know how I'll ever tell you all the things I need to say, let alone everything I wish I could tell you. I wish I could sit down and look you in the eye and say this, or even write you a proper letter, instead of a stupid note that I know you'll never even see. But every time I try you look at me with those stupid green eyes and that stupid smile and I can't... I can't break that trust. I can't tell you. But soon I'll have to, or else you'll find out on your own. No. No, whatever happens, I won't let it come to that. I didn't mean to mislead you, but I didn't think it would matter. I thought once you were better you'd be back with that stupid Weasel and the Mudblood, I thought... I thought it wasn't true, I thought someone would stop it. I thought if I just ignored it, if I pretended I'd never heard, but now my mother is dead. Dumbledore can't stop him for long, either. Soon I'll have to, soon I'll find out what I'm supposed to do for him, and I won't have a choice. If I don't do it he'll just kill me, and find someone else to do it anyway. Either way, I won't be able to protect you. But I have to. I'll find a way. I don't even know what he's planning but I have to stop it. I promised I wouldn't let anyone else hurt you, and I won't. I'll find a way, because...  
_

Harry's heart was hammering, jaw slack and eyes glazed, barely breathing. He could barely read the words, they seemed to be swimming in front of him. _No_. It couldn't... Draco...no, please, no...

_... because I love you._

Harry sobbed, hand flying to cover his mouth, silently shaking his head. The parchment fell from the nerveless fingers of his other hand and Harry stumbled back to lean against a nearby bedpost as the... the _List_... fell to the floor. His face was wet and he wiped at it furiously, trying to catch his breath as he watched the parchment slowly roll back in on itself. _No, Draco, please. _Harry desperately wanted to sprint from the room, but something (beyond his injured feet and pajama-clad state) was keeping him rooted on the spot. He stared at the closed curtains of Draco's bed, and something warm seemed to be dripping down his sides to gather low in his stomach. _Draco... Draco wanted to.. to protect him? _No, he couldn't run. Instead, he sank to sit cross-legged on the cold floor, staring at the scroll still laying a few feet away. To see it just sitting there, no one would ever guess its earth-shattering contents- it just looked so innocuous, like someone's forgotten homework. Harry reached forward and picked it up once more, initially intending to unroll it and read it again, just to be sure, but he couldn't even bring himself to do that. Instead he simply held it, occasionally toying with a slightly torn edge. He sat like that for what felt like another hour before at last he stiffly got to his feet and returned to Draco's trunk. He set aside the jumper he'd chosen earlier and took out a pair of too-big trousers before neatly folding the mass of clothes and returning it to the trunk. After another long moment of staring at the scroll he tucked that back inside as well and closed the lid of the trunk.

Harry silently slipped back through the curtains and into the dark sanctuary of Draco's bed, crawling forward to look down at the other boy's calm, sleeping face.

"It couldn't ever work, you know." He whispered, slipping slowly forward to lay on his side next to Draco, stroking a few wayward hairs out of the other boy's face. "I wish... no." He sighed, looking away for a moment. "I wish I was strong enough to just walk away. You don't deserve to get tangled up in this mess. Whatever he wants you to do, just do it, please. It doesn't matter. I'll never beat him anyway... I don't want you to throw your life away for that." Harry's throat seemed to be getting tight and his voice was barely a whisper. Still, he couldn't keep himself from pressing his face back into that warm, comfortable curve above the other boy's collar bone, biting back another sob. "Besides, I'm... face it, I'm a mess. You deserve so much better, not... not dirty _rubbish_ like me." Harry was a little taken aback by the vehemence of his own voice, but he couldn't help it. He felt so filthy all of a sudden that just the prospect of Draco thinking about him like... like _that_... made him hate himself. He just wanted to hide, and he suddenly found himself hating that horrible man he couldn't remember more than ever. He hated Voldemort, and Lucius, and Dumbledore and... and _everyone._ Why, _why_ did it have to be like this? Why did he have to worry about things like getting murdered when he just wanted this tiny slice of normalcy? He wanted to run, wanted to give up and pull away, wanted to go kill Voldemort that very second and just bloody get it over with, but instead Harry surprised himself yet again.

Slowly, Harry turned and lay so his back fit into the perfect curve of Draco's chest, lifting the other boy's arm and pulling it around him so they were laying flush together. It felt so safe there, so warm, and Harry found himself fighting back tears as Draco reflexively drew him closer. Draco sighed in his sleep, and it ghosted against the back of Harry's neck, making him shiver. For several long minutes Harry lay there, pretending this was where he was meant to be, that he might have actually been worthy of the feelings Draco seemed to have for him, that by some sweet twist of fate he might actually _belong_ in Draco's bed. He lay there for as long as he dared, until Draco's slow, steady heartbeat against his back began to lull him off to sleep and he pulled away for fear that he might become too caught up in the dream.

"I wish I was strong enough to push you away, but I'm too selfish. I can't... not completely. We'll just go on the same as always and if you ever ask, I'll deny it all because that's just the way it has to be. It's the only way. But just so you know, I.."

Harry paused, trying to look into Draco's sleeping face as he said it but he simply couldn't find the nerve. It was all too devastatingly perfect and he had to look away.

"I love you, too. More than anything. More… more than you'll ever know."

Carefully, Harry leaned forward, pressing his lips to Draco's in the softest of butterfly-kisses. Their lips clung slightly together as he pulled back, but he didn't dare risk a second one. Draco would be waking up soon, and Harry didn't want to be there to see it. He slipped back out into the cold and collected the clothes from atop Draco's trunk before disappearing into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. The sound of running water came from within and with a strange mix of elation and desperation Harry slipped into the shower.

He never saw the tear-filled grey eyes peering after him through a gap in the curtains.


	21. The Perfect Plan: Part 1

Draco was going to go mad. He knew it. This was, without doubt, the hardest thing he'd ever done: laying there in the semi-dark, listening to the water running and knowing Harry... Harry who _loved_ him... was in the shower... the same shower _he_ used... _naked_ in the same shower he used... _naked_ and oh-god-_crying_... Draco could just hear the occasional sob over the sound of the water... oh-god-_crying_ because he read the List and he _knew_... Harry _knew_ how he felt... Harry_ knew_ about the mission... Harry _knew_ that he had a House-tie fetish... and Harry still... _loved_ him.

Draco knew something too, though, and it rather complicated matters. Harry was.... stubborn. It seemed that once his mind was made up about something, it was very very hard for someone to change it. Worse than being stubborn, though, Harry was terrified, and loathe though he was to admit it Draco was too. He still couldn't stop thinking about the night before and what might have happened had he not been there. Any previous doubts he may have had about Harry's attacker being inside the castle had been officially dismissed, and the mere thought of letting Harry out of his sight seemed suddenly too horrible to consider. That wasn't even the worst of it, though. (Well, perhaps it was, but just then _everything_ seemed to be the worst of it). Yes, they were both in danger and yes, they both stood to lose a lot, and yes Harry had been hurt... badly... before. But what really made it unbearable was that he _himself_ was on the long list of people who had hurt Harry over the years. _He _had personally, _gladly_ even, put Harry in danger before. _He _had treated Harry just as badly (alright, worse) than the Weasel and the Mudblood were now. _He_ had done _horrible_ things- hell, think of what he'd said in the hospital after Harry had nearly _died_. Oh, if he could take that particular... conversation... back he certainly would. There was no way to undo the past though (unfortunately), and so it was understandable that Harry was a little hesitant to put his faith in Draco's suddenly softened sensibilities.

With all this in mind, Draco did not doubt that if asked Harry would stay true to his word and deny everything. Oh, it was so aggravating! So bloody _unfair_, knowing Harry actually- somehow- felt the same, and yet he was stuck in bed while Harry was crying in the damn shower! However, if Draco was honest with himself (which he rarely was), he couldn't help but find Harry's response a little... endearing. It was just so... so _Slytherin_ of him: first rifling through Draco's personal things while he slept, then the clandestine love confession and unapologetic acknowledgment of selfishness with no intent to change. Not to mention the deep, inherent sense of worthlessness carefully masked with pride and bravado. Of course, Harry's version had a slightly more heroic, self-sacrificing emphasis to it all, but nothing like Draco had expected. Over the past week he had played out numerous scenarios in his head of what might happen if Harry ever learned of his feelings- most of which ended with Harry hexing him into oblivion. However, the few times Draco had dared to imagine otherwise he had naturally pictured Harry acting like all the other lovestruck Gryffindors he'd been forced to observe over the years- heart pinned proudly to sleeve, starry eyed and swooning. Though even in his own head he hated to admit it, he actually almost... sort of... thought it might be kind of... nice, having someone act that way over him. Not just someone, though. It was _Harry_ he wanted to see waiting for him between classes, books clutched shyly to his chest. It was _Harry_ he wanted to get caught with, snogging in dark corners between classes. It was _Harry_ he wanted to walk down to Hogsmead with, warm hand clasped tightly in his own. Not that _he_ would ever _choose_ to do those things... it was just nice, somehow, thinking that Harry might want to.

The water in the bathroom suddenly shut off, followed by the sound of someone fumbling with the shower curtain. _Fuck_. Two thoughts flashed in Draco's mind simultaneously. The first was 'oh-_fuck_-naked-Harry'. The second was that he should have gotten dressed already, because pajama trousers were very thin, and would not be very helpful in concealing the unintentional reaction he was having to the thought of oh-_fuck_-naked-Harry. But then the bathroom door was open and it was too late, so Draco did the only thing he could think of. He pretended to be asleep.

Shifting into what he hoped was a natural (and flattering) position, Draco closed his eyes and slowed his breathing to what he imagined it was like when he slept.

"_Draco?"_

There was a whisper from just outside the curtains, but he forced himself to remain silent- were he truly asleep he would never have noticed such a small noise.

He was also, regrettably, still in no state to leave the concealment of the blankets.

"Draco?"

A little louder, now, but he figured he'd give it another minute- just to be safe.

"Draco..."

The curtains parted for a moment before fluttering shut, and the mattress dipped a little. _Fuck_, again. He really needed to start thinking these things through better- it seemed he was just a little too good at making his own life more difficult. Fabric rustled, there was some mild squirming, and then Harry was laying down beside him again, so close Draco could feel- he could smell... _Fuck. _Harry had used his shampoo. Draco groaned a little, and tried to mask it as a snore.

"Draco, come on... it's time to wake up..."

Slightly damp fingers shook his shoulder and Draco turned his face into the pillow, mumbling with sleepy annoyance, just for good measure:

"_Tired_..."

Harry sighed and shifted back, and then he did the unthinkable- he pulled the curtains open.

Draco did not need to act in order to convey his extreme displeasure at this- he hissed, pulling the pillow over his face to block the sudden flood of light blinding him.

"_What the bloody hell were you thinking_?!" Draco growled, replacing the pillow with his hands as he struggled to sit up. "I'm awake! I'm awake! You didn't have to open the damn curtains, I- " But Draco did not get the chance to finish. He lowered his hands to glare at Harry, but what he found was... distracting.

Harry was sitting back on his knees at the corner of the mattress, a green curtain on either side of him and the light splayed around him. He was looking confused, and a little worried, but he was smiling nervously nonetheless... and he was wearing Draco's clothes.

"Sorry..." Harry mumbled, quickly ducking his head under Draco's sudden scrutiny. "It's just... the carriages are leaving soon, and I thought you might want to say goodbye to your friends."

Draco turned to look at the clock, shocked to see it was already almost noon. "Right! Carriages... leaving. Right. Just... give me a minute." Draco stumbled from bed, and it was then he noticed what else Harry had been up to while he'd been sleeping- his trunk was absolutely _pristine_. That, paired with Harry's current attire, had Draco quickly (though a little reluctantly) reassessing his vision of Slytherin-Harry stealthily rifling through his trunk in search of questionable content.

"Harry! Wow, you-"  
"I'll be in the common room."

Harry chirped, voice terse and final but not unpleasant, and he was off the bed and out the door before Draco could even figure out what he had been going to say. He stared after Harry blankly for a moment, and then a wide, mildly maniacal grin began sneaking its way across his face. It seemed he knew Harry well, but perhaps not quite so well as he had thought. Either way, it was quickly beginning to look as if this was going to be even more difficult than he'd originally thought. And yet, as he stood there, biting his lip and staring after the beautifully insane boy that had just darted out wearing his clothes, he couldn't help thinking this was somehow even better than watching Harry blush and stutter- Draco had, after all, always loved a challenge.

By the time they reached the front of the school most of the carriages had already left. Well, more accurately, the carriages baring anyone Harry had wanted to say goodbye to had already left, but Draco made it in time to see Blaise and Pansy off. While Harry stood back a ways, waiting rather sullenly in the cold, he couldn't help but think they had purposely been waiting for Draco. It was a warm, nice sort of thought, and it made Harry feel bitter and resentful by contrast. Hell, even the _Slytherins_ were better friends than Ron and Hermione had been recently. Thankfully, once they were alone again and back in the warmth of the castle Harry gradually felt the dark thoughts retreat back into the dark corners of his mind.

For the time being, anyway.

~*~

Lunch was... very quiet. With most of the school gone there was little fanfare over their unusually friendly seating arrangement, but Draco doubted their small audience had anything to do with Harry's silence. After lunch they went for an equally quiet walk down by the lake, then to the library so Draco could study for his make-up exams. Then came another walk and a silent dinner before eventually they ended up in the Room of Requirement for the Wizards Chess rematch Draco had requested the previous weekend. He lost. Again. This time no jam was involved, but Draco was not willing to to admit it was the ticking clock and Harry's increasingly frequent yawns distracting him.

All day he'd been itching to ask Harry about what had happened the previous night. The other boy had been guarded, though, and each time Draco had even considered trying to bring up the topic Harry had simply seemed to withdraw even further into himself. However, Draco had tried to be patient because he knew it was only a matter of time. Eventually Harry would get tired and want to go to bed, and then he would have his chance to-

"Getting late..." Harry mumbled through another yawn, head limply propped on his hands. Draco almost yawned just looking at him. Instead he shook himself and looked at the clock- already after three in the morning. Damn, his first makeup exam was in less than five hours. Oh well.

"Yeah, you're right. Want me to walk you back to the Tower?"

Draco asked casually, trying to remain nonchalant as he began packing away the chess board. All the while, though, he surreptitiously watched from the corner of his eye for Harry's reaction. When he noticed no immediate change he hazarded a more direct peek, only to find Harry staring dead at him. He quickly looked back down.

"Draco...."

Draco begrudgingly turned back to look at Harry, who was quite clearly not fooled by his feigned innocence- nor was he amused.

"Harry, you can't-"

"I'll be sleeping in here, thanks. I wasn't planning on inviting myself back down to Slytherin, if that's what you're worried about. You.... you didn't have to do that, you know..." Harry's voice dropped and he looked away quickly, bitter shame obvious in his narrowed eyes.

"What?" Draco wasn't even sure what part of that to respond to first. "I... what? I didn't think you were trying to invite yourself, I just asked if you wanted me to walk you back to the Tower. And I didn't have to do _what_ exactly? It's not like I could seriously let you go back there last night after-"

"Then what's so different about tonight?" Harry snapped, angrily lunging to his feet. "If they could get in without waking up a single person what makes it any different if I'm there alone or not? Though if anything I thought you'd say it'd be even more dangerous now!"

Harry was getting a little hysterical, and was clearly ready to begin pacing, but Draco gently grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down onto the sofa.

"Harry, you have to go back eventually. I mean, I'm not going to make you stay there tonight if you don't want to, but can we at least go take a look, just to make sure everything's okay? I'll go with you. If you want, I mean. And besides, wouldn't it be nice to wear something tomorrow that isn't sliding off your scrawny arse?" He suggested with a soft poke at Harry's bony hip, hoping to lighten the mood a little. He mentally added '_Because if I have to spend another day watching you stretch and squirm around in my clothes I really will go loony._'

Harry gave a half-smile in response, but the mood he was slipping into was too dark for such mild measures and the contrast only made him feel more miserable.

Draco was still holding his wrist, and with a sigh Harry dropped his gaze to examine their joined hands, trying to think of a way that he could somehow avoid this topic altogether. Tired as he was, though, Harry simply found his mind drifting.

Draco's hands were... pretty. They were soft and smooth with long, thin fingers and neatly groomed nails, elegant and yet somehow strong next to his own small, calloused ones. He'd always thought his fingers looked stubby, and next to Draco's they certainly were. Small and stubby and useless.

Harry was just beginning to feel a little self-conscious of his rough, bitten down nails when he noticed that in the firelight the faint white lines of scarred words were clearly legible on the back of his hand, seeming to mock him. Impossibly, his dark mood darkened even further. "_I must not tell lies," _Harry laughed bitterly to himself, and though he hated the thought that came next he couldn't help it: "_Would the shock of seeing that be enough to get Draco off my back for the night?" _He worried his lower lip with his teeth, glancing up to meet Draco's determined stare._ "Not likely," _he quickly concluded,_ "And not worth it anyway. I'd rather go sleep in the broomshed than have that particular conversation right now__."_ Slowly, to avoid drawing Draco's notice, he slid his hand free, tucking the floppy sleeves down over his fingers and crossing his arms over his chest.

"But... why do we have to do it tonight? Can't we just go look tomorrow morning? It'll be the same thing."

A warm hand found Harry's shoulder, but he quickly shrugged it off with a mild huff of annoyance. This was so _stupid_. Stupid and pointless and incredibly aggravating, and Harry was about ready to get up and leave just so he could get away from the other boy at that point. But then Draco said:

"Because you're not a coward, Harry. What does it prove if you go back in broad daylight? Nothing. Other than the fact that you're too scared to go to your own room at night, of course."

Harry snapped around to stare at Draco incredulously, more than ready to respond with some rather unkind words of his own, but Draco was already standing by the door with his book bag slung over one shoulder.

"Coming?"

Harry glared for all he was worth, but eventually he stood and followed Draco out into the cold, dark hallway.

~*~

"_Baubles._"

Harry whispered, and the Fat Lady started awake.

"Harry? Harry, dear, is that you? Goodness, what are you doing out so late?"

Harry stood directly in front of the portrait, Draco hidden in the shadows out of the Fat Lady's line of sight.

"Oh, just... a little restless, you know? Nothing unusual. Sorry to have woken you."

The portrait swung open to reveal the hole in the wall, and when the Fat Lady spoke again it was only to sleepily inform him as to the dangers of late night prowling.

They slipped into the common room- Draco first and then Harry, who carefully slid the portrait shut behind them. As the it clicked into place, Harry abruptly realized that everything was very very dark, and it was making his chest feel a little tight.

"Draco..."

He whispered uncertainly, and then a firm hand was rubbing his back and Draco was there next to him.

"Why is it so dark?"

Even without seeing it Harry could tell the other boy was frowning, and his suspicion was confirmed a moment later when the lights suddenly flickered for a moment before growing into a dim glow.

"Well...You're the only Gryffindor staying this year, right? The lights must have gone out because the Tower thought everyone had left for the holidays. Did anyone know you were staying?"

Harry nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm the only one, but I told Dumbledore weeks ago that I'd be staying. I watched him add my name to the list and everything, so the House Elves should have known to keep the fire going."

Harry pressed a little closer despite himself, and Draco wanted nothing more than to grab him and run. Something was definitely not right. Instead, he dropped his hand to catch trembling fingers with his own, stilling them.

"Hey, come on. Let's just go have a look, and then I'll go back to the Room of Requirement with you if you want, okay?"

Draco smiled reassuringly and Harry hesitantly nodded, slowly leading the way up to his room. He did not, however, release Draco's hand.

What Draco did not say, but what he could not stop thinking, was that Harry was right. If his name was on the list then the Tower lights should have stayed on, and he'd never heard of House Elves forgetting to stoke the fire. It seemed a rather unlikely coincidence that the first time just so happened to be now.

"Here, this one's mine."

Harry had stopped outside a door decorated with little gold lions wearing bright red Santa Claus hats, and Draco snorted trying to suppress a laugh.

"I know, I know... it's stupid. I didn't do it."

Harry looked cross, but it didn't stop his hand from tightening painfully around Draco's when the lights flickered back out a moment later, leaving them in darkness.

"Oh, thank goodness." Draco's slightly-snarky voice came from the shadows. "For a moment I thought I had seriously misjudged your taste in holiday decor." Harry rolled his eyes, but when Draco spoke again his voice was very serious.

"Harry, listen- I want you to wait here while I go in and check things over. There's probably nothing to worry about, but have your wand ready, just in case, and if anything goes sideways I want you to run straight to the Slytherin dorms. The password is 'Hiberna.'"

Draco took out his own wand out and with the help of a _lumos_ began examining the door for any signs the anti-intruder charms had been tampered with.

"Yeah, Slytherin... Hiberna. Got it."

Harry paused.

"Umm... just one problem, though."

Another pause.

"I... well, I don't have my wand."

Draco stared at him incredulously.

"_Harry? _What were you _thinking_?"

Draco hissed. Of all the stupid, careless-

"I'm _sorry_, okay? I wasn't exactly thinking too clearly when I left my room last night. Or did you not notice that I've been wearing your shoes all day as well?"

Harry shifted his feet for emphasis and the shoes crinckled a little, likely from the parchment he'd obviously had to stuff the toes with.

"But your _wand_? Harry, you should have said something. I wouldn't have let you come in here if I'd known you didn't have your wand. Where is it?"

Harry bristled, but defeatedly replied.

"In there, on my nightstand. I think."

"You _think_?"

"Hey! There was someone crawling across my bed in the middle of the night trying to kill me! I wasn't exactly paying a lot of attention to much besides running for my bloody life, okay?!"

Draco faltered a little, too taken aback to care that Harry's yelling had blown any cover the darkness had loaned them. Well, his plan had worked. At least now he knew what had happened.

"Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry. You could have just told me, I wouldn't have-"

"Let's just get this over with, okay? We're already here, let's just go in."

Harry had dropped Draco's hand at some point and now he roughly shouldered his way past the other boy, throwing the door open and walking in.

"_Harry!"_

Draco rushed forward, ready to pull Harry back but the lights in the room were already on and from what he could see it was empty. The bed hangings on three of the beds had been hastily tied back, covers haphazardly pulled up and trunks missing. There was one trunk left, though, and it sat at the foot of the one bed whose curtains were still drawn.

"Harry, I mean it this time. _Wait. Here._ I'm going to go check."

Harry shifted forward, grabbing Draco's arm.

"Draco-"

"_No_, Harry, I'm serious. You don't have your wand, so just _wait here_."

Harry smiled a little.

"Actually, I was going to say 'be careful,' but I guess you already know that."

Draco smiled back a little sheepishly, and Harry's hand dropped back to his side.

"Don't worry, I will be. After all, if I died, who'd make sure you passed your next potions test?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco slowly approached the bed, wand at the ready. He gave a final look at Harry over his shoulder, and threw back the curtains. What he found wasn't quite what he had expected.

"Harry... come here."

Harry's bed was made, covers neatly smoothed and the red plush blanket folded near the pillows. There was no sign of a struggle. In fact, it looked as if no one had slept there in weeks.

"Those... those aren't my blankets."

A small voice came from behind Draco and he whirled to look at Harry, eyes wide.

"_What_? But, that red one..."

"The red one's mine, but not the rest. Look, those sheets are black, and mine are white. And that other blanket is green... mine's maroon, like all the others."

Draco stared incredulously, panic rising in his chest. Harry was right. The blankets were wrong. It... it looked like _his_ bed.

"Come on, Harry. Let's get your stuff and get out of here. We can come back tomorrow and sort it out. It was probably just the House Elves mixing up the washing."

The likelihood of House Elves 'accidentally' making up Harry's bed with blankets that matched his own seemed about as likely as those same Elves 'accidentally' forgetting to leave the lights on, but if Harry hadn't noticed the similarity he certainly wasn't going to point it out. All he wanted just then was to get them out of there.

"What do you need from here?"

Harry reached out and hastily grabbed the red blanket, clutching it to his chest.

"Umm, my wand, some clothes, my toothbrush and stuff from the bathroom. My shoes."

"Go get your things from the bathroom and I'll find what I can."

Harry nodded and disappeared into the small adjoining room while Draco crossed to the nightstand in search of Harry's wand. The stand was completely empty, though. Eyeing the floor uncertainly, he called:

"Harry! Your wand's not here. Should I check under the bed?"

There was silence.

"Harry?"

A muted sob came from the bathroom, followed by Harry's voice, strained and bitter.

"No, don't bother. I've already found it."

Draco rushed in to find Harry staring into one of the bathroom stalls, the toilet of which had overflowed all of the floor. He grimaced as he tip-toed through the water, but as he looked in from behind Harry, Draco could see the source of the problem- the handle of a wand was just visible, lodged in the hole at the bottom of the toilet.

"Harry! What... that's your wand. How did it... Who would _do _that?"

Harry splashed across the flooded tiles and shoved the sleeve of the jumper he was wearing nearly to his shoulder.

"Oh, that's bloody _sick_! Don't do that! I can use magic-"

"No! Don't use magic!"

Harry turned, hand out to somehow block any summoning attempts Draco might try to make.

"It's wedged in there really tight. If you try using magic it'll probably just snap."

Draco froze, hand already on his own wand.

"Oh..."

"Sorry if any of it gets on your clothes. I'll wash them later..."

Harry shoved his hand in the toilet, and Draco couldn't watch.

"Don't worry about the clothes. I'll go find your shoes..."

Draco stormed out of the bathroom and began hastily digging around. He found Harry's shoes half under the bed, along with his potion's text and one lone dirty sock. Eventually there was a suctiony noise from the bathroom and shortly afterwards the sound of running water; from the lack of expletives Draco assumed Harry's wand made it out in one piece. He didn't realize how tightly he'd been clenching his teeth until his jaw popped. There were just no accurate words to describe the depth of the uneasy rage building in his chest. How could Harry be so calm? How could someone have done that? He couldn't understand, so instead he simply called into the bathroom:

"What locking spell do you use, and I'll get some clean clothes from your trunk."

Harry appeared in the doorway- red faced, angry and shirtless.

"I don't use a locking spell anymore."

He said tersely, crossing to kneel in front of his trunk. Again, Draco did not notice the thin silver chain around Harry's neck until the other boy started fumbling with the clasp.

"Could I, umm... could I borrow your wand for a moment? Mine's kinda... you know."

Draco fidgeted with his wand for a second, feeling a little uncertain. He'd seen bad things happen before from someone using a wand without first becoming its master, but he certainly wasn't about to let Harry use the toilet-wand until he'd had a chance to properly scour it (and check its recent casting history to make sure no one else had been using it). He was also, admittedly, a little curious to see if their magic was similar enough for it to work. Draco handed his wand over.

Whatever spell Harry used, Draco could not hear the words to it. However, nothing bad happened and a moment later a small silver key appeared on the chain, which Harry fit into the blackened lock of his trunk.

"Merlin, Harry... did someone break into your trunk?"

Harry whispered another spell that Draco couldn't quite make out and the key disappeared once more.

"Thanks..."

He mumbled, handing Draco back his wand.

"Harry-"

"Yeah, yeah..." he huffed as he began sifting through his trunk. "It happened a few weeks ago, after I slept over in the Room of Requirement one night. Nothing was missing, just rifled through a bit. That's when I got this other lock for it. I guess..." he paused, running a finger along the lock. "I guess it does seem a little blacker now than it did a few days ago. Nothing's missing, though. Ron probably just wanted to borrow my practice Snitch for the holidays."

Draco snorted.

"And your wand? I'm guessing they were just curious to see how far they could shove it down the toilet?"

Harry was on his feet instantly.

"Look, just let it go, okay? They were all up in some 7th year's room last night having a party. It was probably a dare, or they were drunk or something. Seamus nicked some Firewhiskey last time they went to Hogsmead- they probably just got sloshed and thought it'd be a funny prank."

Harry turned and grabbed his book bag, shoving it full of clean clothes and a few books.

"I thought you said they were all sleeping when you ran out? Does that mean they did it while you were asleep and you didn't notice, or did they wait until this morning to execute their drunken dare? Harry, did you actually _see_ your wand last night when you left, or did you just assume it was still there?"

Glowering, Harry snatched Draco's wand back out of his hand and went through his key ceremony once more to lock his trunk.

"I'll be sleeping in the Room of Requirement tonight."

He thrust Draco's wand back at him and returned to the bathroom to grab the rest of his things.

"See you tomorrow. Don't wake the Fat Lady on your way out."

Then Harry was gone, and Draco kicked the nearest bed as hard as he could.

"Stupid prat... stupid, bloody prat..." He sighed, sinking dejectedly onto the trunk. "Bloody hell, Harry..." Draco turned his wand over in his hands, shivering a little to feel the remnants of Harry's magic still on it. "Your're going to get yourself killed one of these days, and at this rate it's going to be me that does it."

~*~

Draco slept very little that night, and judging by the dark circles under Harry's eyes the next morning he hadn't fared much better. The tension from their late-night adventure was palpable the moment he entered the Hall though, and Draco was not prepared to get yelled at again just yet, so he did not mention it. Harry glanced up from his cornflakes when Draco sat down, offering a neutral "Morning," before returning his gaze to the uneaten mush in his bowl. Nothing else was said, and a few minutes later Harry stood and stalked out with a mumbled "See you later." Thanks to his make-up exams Draco spent most of his day sequestered away in dingy classrooms, so it was not until dinner that night that their paths crossed again.

Harry was once more in the Hall already when Draco arrived, though this time he was seated at the table in the farthest corner of the room, back to the door. As he approached, Draco noticed that Harry was, once again, not eating- he was simply sitting there, arms folded on the table, face buried in the crook of his elbow.

"Umm... Harry?"

An unintelligible mumble came from the hunched form.

"Sorry, what?"

The dark head reluctantly rose and puffy eyes looked up at Draco from behind skewed glasses.

"I said 'I'm sorry.'" Harry looked away. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that last night. I was a little... upset. I just don't understand why they'd do that. I didn't want to think... If I..." Harry sighed and tried to collect himself, staring resolutely down at the table. "I didn't want to think about it too much, because I know they probably didn't do it to be mean, and even if they did it's no use thinking about. It'll just make things worse."

Draco sat down, reaching for Harry's hand without even thinking about it. Until Harry flinched away.

"Sorry..." Harry mumbled again, tucking his arms in a little closer. "It's just... I dunno. I guess I'm just having a hard time judging people's intentions these days. It seems like everyone has secrets, or some hidden agenda or something. I feel like everyone just wants something from me. I feel... I feel like I can't trust anyone anymore."

Draco froze. _No_. Damn it, if Harry shied away from him now because of that List he would never forgive himself. How _stupid_. He should have just burned the bloody thing. Draco could not help what he started to blurt out next.

"Harry, if this is about that parchment-"

"_No._"

Harry recoiled violently and the glare he leveled on Draco was an unmistakable warning. The need to explain was too powerful for Draco, though.

"Look, I just-"

"_No."_

_"_Would you please-"

"_No."_

_"Harry!_"

_"No."_

Draco wanted to scream.

"Fuck, Harry! What do I have to do to make you trust me?"

Harry laid his head back down on the table, face turned away.

"Nothing. There's nothing you can do." He whispered. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying, but I just don't think I can ever trust anyone again. Not after..." Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. "Not after what happened," and Draco couldn't help but watch the way Harry's nails were leaving little dark crescents in his own palms. "I wish I could trust someone. God, Draco- I wish I could trust _you_." Draco's heart leapt. "But I can't." And fell. "

Harry stood, grabbing his book bag and slinging it it over one shoulder. His eyes, however, remained downcast.

"It's not just you, though. I can't trust anyone, and until the day I learn to read minds, I doubt that's going to change."

Harry turned and walked back towards the door, but he only got a few seats away before he turned and looked back. Draco did not notice, though. He had his own back to Harry, eyes locked firmly on nothing. He was staring blankly into middle-distance, shoulders hunched in defeat and a dull ache in his chest. Draco nearly leapt out of his skin when a timid hand touched the middle of his upper back, right between his shoulders, where that hollow place seemed to center. The hand was warm, and it felt nice.

"I wish I was more like you..." Harry whispered, rubbing a gentle circle into Draco's back the way the other boy had often done for him. "Strong, and clever... not such a tender-hearted fool."

Draco blinked.

"What did you say?"

He turned to stare at Harry, surprise and incomprehension clear- and then a look of sudden realization was dawning in Draco's eyes. He looked away, hope, doubt and awed disbelief passing across his face before he broke into a slightly wild grin. Harry looked a little taken aback when Draco stood, grabbing his own bag.

"Harry, I've got to go do something right now, but I don't have any makeup exams tomorrow. D'you... I mean, would you like to go flying with me, tomorrow morning?"

This time it was Harry's turn to look surprised.

"What?"

Draco just smiled enigmatically and started towards the door himself, taking the first few steps backwards so he could look at Harry as he said:

"Meet me at the front doors tomorrow morning. Sunrise. I'll be waiting."

Then he was gone and Harry sat back down, feeling very confused.

~*~

Flying the next morning went very well- as did lunch, and the walk they went for afterwards. In fact, the entire day went by without a single inccident. Whatever dark thoughts had plagued Harry the previous day seemed to retreat once they were in the air, and without outside intrusion Harry's good mood finally had a chance to linger. The next morning was too sleet-drenched to fly, unfortunately, but once the last of Draco's makeup exams were complete he was forced to concede that sans Gryffindors, Gryffindor Tower was fairly nice. It was certainly warmer than the dungeons, at any rate, and there was no denying that watching the heavy, icy drops pelt a _real_ window was a nice change.

That first week would have been incredibly enjoyable, in fact, had Draco not been utterly exhausted. Each day he and Harry did something: flying, when the weather allowed, reading, or walking around the castle, or playing wizards chess when it didn't. However, it was not until later- after he'd seen Harry safely back to Gryffindor Tower for the night- that Draco's real work began. He sat awake in his room, often until the sky outside was already lightening in the distance, but there was no time for sleep. He had research to do, Lists to make and owls to send- not to mention laws to break. In other words, he had a plan.

A plan that, should it work, could give Harry a chance to trust again. A plan that could help ease the other boy's fears and rebuild his shattered self-esteem. A plan that could keep him safe, without Draco needing to watch him every moment. A plan that could really, truly give them a chance to be together. A plan that was so perfect in every way Draco couldn't help but title it (on parchment which he would later burn) his Perfect Plan. The only flaw he could see, in fact, was that it wouldn't be ready for _days. _

Eventually the evening of December 22nd came, though, and ironically enough once it was there Draco felt horribly unprepared. Outside, fine white flakes of snow were drifting and swirling in the dark, dissolving before they could reach the ground but permeating the air with their chill. Up in Gryffindor Tower Draco was biding his time, playing Wizards Chess with Harry as he watched the other boy's eyes grow heavy, the yawns more frequent. When Harry let his king be checked three turns in a row, all by the same pawn, he knew it was only a matter of time. And, sure enough, soon afterwards Harry called the game quits and went to curl up on the sofa by the fire. Draco followed suit, settling in with the pretense of getting some reading done. His eyes just would not stay focused on the words, though, and eventually he had to actually stop and check the cover just to see what exactly it was he was supposed to be reading; _Hogwarts; A History_? Who on earth left that rubbish laying about?

He set the book back in his lap, taking a deep breath and chancing a look at his sofa-mate. Harry had squished himself into the corner made by back and arm rest, head tucked against his chest and wild hair flopped forward across his face, glasses still on but skewed. One sock-clad foot twitched slightly under Draco's gaze, though Harry's sleep glazed, half-lidded eyes remained glued on the fire. Draco's chest contracted painfully. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes.

He was nervous, simple as that. The first phase of his Perfect Plan would begin as soon as Harry fell asleep; in just a few short minutes he would be breaking rules, going places he shouldn't- even facing possible death if something went wrong. And then, of course, was the most terrifying prospect of all; it might not work. He might, in fact, scare Harry off for good. Another deep breath and he took a cautious glance from beneath his lashes.

"Harry?"

Whispered first softly, then a little louder when he received no response. Asleep, then. Draco noticed his hands were trembling a little as he reached out and gathered the sleeping boy in his arms, but even in his relatively panicky state Draco found some comfort in the fact that Harry was a bit heavier than the last time he'd had to carry him. Up the stairs and Draco nudged open the door to Harry's room, elbowing back the curtains and lowering him into his unmade bed. In his sleep, Harry clung slightly to Draco's jumper, and pale hands carefully uncurled unconsciously stubborn fingers from the material before Draco placed a breathy kiss on the palm of each hand. Letting go was almost physically painful, but eventually he released Harry's hands, sliding his own down the side of the other boy's throat in a questing caress. The clasp to the silver chain was small and Draco fumbled a few times before he managed to slip it free, careful not to lose his invisible prize. There, he had it. Now to the trunk. He needed to _hurry._ But... it was so _tempting_ to linger there at Harry's bedside, watching over him as he slept. What if something happened while he was gone? What if Harry woke up? Couldn't he just stay a little longer? _No_. He had to hurry, before he lost his nerve. Draco carefully pulled the covers up and shut the curtains.

A silencing spell ensured Harry remained peacefully asleep as Draco moved to stand squarely in front of the trunk, disillusioned key firmly in hand. If his research was correct, which it had bloody well better be, the spell Harry had used was not a spell at all, but a password. He distinctly remembered hearing two syllables, and what sounded like a soft-consonant first letter, and as long as it wasn't in paseltongue he was about to figure out what it was. He fished around in his pocket for a moment and pulled out folded up slip of parchment, as well as Harry's own wand, which he'd found lost in the sofa cushions down in the common room earlier when they first sat down. Which meant Harry had at least gone to dinner without his wand. Careless prat. Draco was already mentally composing the personal safety lecture Harry would be getting in the morning- assuming he made it back alive.

Unfolding the parchment, Draco began:

"Hogwarts."

Nothing. Other than the fact that using Harry's wand made the inside of his wrist itch a little. At least that hopefully meant Harry's magical signature on the wand would be sufficient to fool any caster-specific wards on the key. Next-

"Hogsmead. Hogshead."

No.

"Quidditch. Seeker. Boggart."

No..

"Hedwig."

No....

"Muggle. Magic. Potion. Cauldron."

Bloody hell, he was almost to the end of his (admittedly short) list already. He'd been counting on Harry choosing something obvious. Well, hopefully not this obvious:

"Harry." No. "Potter." No.

Good...?

"Sunrise."

Now he was just guessing.

"Pumpkin."

He glanced at the clock. Five more minutes and he would have to leave, with or without the bloody thing.

"Thestral."

No.

"Griffin."

No.

"Centaur."

No.

"Dragon."

And then there was a key in his hand, and the abruptness of it made Draco jolt a little with surprise. He stared at it incredulously, heart racing and sides tingling with sudden heat. Harry's password was... 'Dragon'? _"Oh, get over yourself_." Draco took a deep, shaky breath, trying collect himself before kneeling to open the trunk. Just because Harry's password was the English translation of his name didn't mean that was _why_ Harry had chosen it. Plenty of people liked dragons, and Harry had even fought one in their fourth year, so it wasn't all that strange. But... it was his name. Harry's password was practically _his name_.

_Not now._ He forced himself to return to the task at hand. He'd be taking a very long walk soon anyway- there would be plenty of time for delusional daydreams then.

Inside, the trunk was a mess: piles of books, haphazardly folded robes, a Gryffindor scarf, several unused rolls of parchment, quill pens, an ink well and… there, down at the very bottom. Draco grabbed the mound of strange, shimmery fabric and pulled it out, shaking it loose. A piece of folded-up old parchment fell from the folds of fabric and Draco quickly tossed the blank paper back into the trunk before closing the lid and locking it. The key returned to its proper state and owner, Draco allowed himself one final moment of Harry-watching before he began his quest in earnest; he sat down at the edge of the bed, leaning forward a little to press a feather-soft kiss to Harry's forehead.

"Don't go doing anything stupid while I'm gone, you horrible prat."

Draco whispered, pressing his face into the mess of black hair, breathing in deeply. The middle of his chest was feeling hollow again, and all he wanted to do was pull Harry close and hold him through the night. He knew he couldn't though- not yet anyway. But, if the next few hours went according to Plan, it would not be long until he _was_ spending the night with Harry tucked against his side, kitten-soft snores tickling his throat and warm fingers tangled in his shirt. Draco shivered. Just the thought was making his face burn, and he tried to hold onto that heat, knowing he would need it very soon.

With Harry safe, warm and sleeping, Draco at last dimmed the lights and pulled the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, throwing one last longing look at the closed bed curtains before slipping out into the darkened halls.

The walk to Hogsmead was a rather long one- especially with the cold air burning his lungs and the slushy ground clinging to his shoes. The snow was finally starting to stick, with flakes growing heavier and more abundant by the step, and Draco desperately wished for a warmer cloak and a brighter _lumos_ spell.

In the growing storm it took him a full hour to reach the village, and when at last he did nearly everything was dark and shut-up for the night. A glance at a dimly lit clock ticking away inside a shop revealed it to be shortly before midnight. Damn, he was already behind schedule. Quickening pace, Draco made his way towards the far end of the village, eventually coming to a stop outside a small, rundown bed and breakfast. He shook off the heavy snow that had settled on him and crammed the invisibility cloak into his bag before intrepidly venturing inside. The small, dim sitting room he found was warm, and Draco was profusely thankful for that. In the hearth a fire was burning brightly and beside it sat a plump, middle-aged witch with very curly, mostly grey hair. She was magically-mending socks and humming to herself, but she beamed at him when he entered.

"Evenin', deary. Need a room for the night?"

Draco's feet squished in his shoes as he walked forward, but as he neared her he caught the scent of lavender, and it made him smile a little.

"No, ma'am, thank you though. I was actually wondering if I could use your floo. You see, I need to get to the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yes, yes of course, deary," She absently waved at the fire, looking him over. "Sure you wouldn't like a spot of tea, first? You look near frozen to death."

"No, thank you, I'm in a bit of a hurry actually." He found himself ducking his head a little under her scrutiny. "Will I be able to get back through this way in about two hours?"

She gave a snort of a laugh.

"Of course! I'll be sittin' here all night. You think I get enough guests in this dingy little place to pay the bills?" She extended her hand. "5 galleons, please."

Draco couldn't help but appreciate her bluntness, laughing a little himself. He handed her 8 galleons.

"If anyone should ask-"

She winked at him knowingly, nudging him towards a large flowerpot full of floo powder.

"Off you go now, deary."

Draco tossed a handful of the powder into the fire and stepped inside.

"The Leaky Cauldron!"

The image of her round, smiling face stayed fixed in his mind as he snuck out the back of the Leaky Cauldron, down the darkened street and into Knockturn Alley.

The last time he'd been in this rather unscrupulous part of the town it had been in broad daylight on a warm summer afternoon with his powerful death-eater father towering over him. At the time it had seemed a glorious, wonderful place full of fascinating witches and wizards. At night, in the dead of winter and all alone, it was damned terrifying. Pimps and prostitutes dotted the corners and alleyways, unscrupulous peddlers eyeing him inquisitively. As a woman with dark hair and darker eyes leered at him from across the street, Draco began to wonder why he hadn't had the foresight to put the invisibility cloak back on. It was too late now, though, so instead he doubled his pace, fairly flying down the street towards the shop he was looking for.

The storefront was a weather-beaten brick wall with no sign, no windows and only a knob-less, stripped wooden door to get inside; to be admitted one had to knock three times and wait until someone came to the door and either decided to open it or not. Surprisingly, the door swung open on the second knock, revealing an immensely tall man with dark skin and long white hair.

"Wand?"

The man's voice was completely flat- like his eyes- and Draco raised his wand. The man tapped it once with his own, and when a small flurry of red sparks erupted to sizzle in the snow he stepped aside to let Draco pass. With the door closed, the man disappeared silently into a back room, leaving Draco alone.

The interior of the shop was so vastly different from the outside that it shocked Draco every time he'd been there- in contrast to the rough, worn brick exterior, the inner walls were made entirely of smooth black onyx. Ceiling, floors, counters- every surface was carved of polished black stone, and it gave the place the feel of an ancient tomb. Centuries worth of stale magic hung heavy in the air, and it was making Draco feel slightly claustrophobic; it was a little disconcerting to imagine what kind of spells could leave that kind of trace in a room specifically made to neutralize negativity and ground the spirit. Feeling restless now that the adrenaline fueling his quest had no immediate outlet, Draco stepped forward to examine the glossy, reflective surface of a nearby wall. He remembered playing with his mirror image in the onyx for hours as a child, passing the time with childish games while his father commissioned various items of dubious legality. However, as he stepped closer to the wall, Draco noticed it was not his own reflection he saw, but something else entirely. Uncertain if he should really be touching such a well-used grounding stone, Draco hesitantly traced a hand along the wall; it shocked him a little, almost like static, and with a jolt he recognized the misty fingers pressing back against his own through the stone. Small hands, fragile like little birds and warm under the onyx. Draco swallowed hard, stumbling back a step.

"Young Mister Malfoy, I've been expecting you…"

The voice was thick, deep and cajoling with a heavy, unidentifiable accent- something eastern European, perhaps. Draco tore his eyes away from the image lurking in the wall to face the shopkeeper instead, noting absently that his tall assistant was nowhere in sight.

"Mister Foratou,"

Draco felt the Malfoy sneer threatening to curl his lip as he inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. Sometimes it terrified him how easy it was to become his father.

"You have them, then?"

Foratou was shorter than Draco remembered, and older (obviously). His bald, tattooed head and prominent incisors both gleamed in the room's dim light.

"Indeed. Your letter was very specific. I must say, when I saw the Malfoy crest I never expected this. You are so very much alike your father, and yet... so startlingly different."

At this Draco did sneer- dangerously. His lip curled with disdain to reveal his own tightly-clenched teeth, eyes narrowed. Foratou faltered.

"Mister Malfoy, I meant only…"

"It does not matter,"

Draco snapped, pausing a moment to regain his composure.

"I wish to see them."

Foratou smiled gratefully, albeit nervously, and quickly pulled two small boxes from beneath the counter, opening each in turn. Draco snatched them up, inspecting their contents carefully. Foratou looked very pleased with himself.

"Exactly as I requested?"

"Yes, yes… all as agreed upon," the old man's head bobbed in eager agreement, clearly excited.

"Untraceable? Invisible to those who do not know to look? "

"Yes, Mister Malfoy, as I said-"

"You _did_ use _wild_ dragon's blood, didn't you? Because if I find you've used that black market rubbish-"

Foratou looked horrified at the very thought.

"Mister Malfoy! My family has maintained this business for three-hundred-fifty years! We have reputation to uphold. I would never!"

Draco was unmoved, voice frozen and calculating.

"I don't care about your _reputation_. I need to know these are _pure_, Foratou, down to _every last ingriedient_. My... interests... may be unconventional, but do not doubt for a moment that as the sole Malfoy heir I have the power to destroy your life, and your livelihood, should I find you have lied to me in _any_ way."

Foratou's eyes looked ready to bulge right out of their black-rimmed sockets, but when he spoke again the sugary-coating was at last gone from his voice.

"As you requested, I used your sizable downpayment to procure the freshest, purest ingredients available, and have placed all spells and charms personally, myself. These are, I assure you, the purest, most powerful pair to be made in the last century."

Draco stared at him for another long minute before clicking the boxes shut, tucking them securely inside a hidden pocket of his robe. Reaching into another pocket he pulled out a tiny bag, which he returned it to its original size before dropping it loudly onto the onyx counter.

"The rest of your payment, Mr. Foratou. And now, for the final part of our agreement."

The wild light in Foratou's glassy eyes dimmed, and he nodded solemnly.

"Yes, though it will be such a pity to forget such power, such craftsmanship, such…."

"_Obliviate_."

A shimmer of magic and Foratou was staring at his door as it shut behind no one. He blinked several times before his gaze caught on the large bag full of galleons gleaming in front of him and his confusion melted instantly into glee.

The trip back to Hogwarts remained in Draco's memory as brief flashes of clarity: The warmth of the Leaky Cauldron. The kind smile and lavender scent of the witch at the bed and breakfast. A particularly deep snow drift near the Forbidden Forest that sunk him thigh-deep into icy slush. Not to mention discovering the door to the broomshed (and its secret passage) frozen solidly into place, and then nearly tripping on Mrs. Norris when he was forced to use the main school entrance instead. The entire trek took far longer than he'd imagined, and by the time he had cleaned and returned Harry's invisibility cloak to its rightful place the sky was already dimly lit in the east.

Still tucked safe and warm in his bed, Harry sucked on the corner of his pillow in his sleep.

Draco was wet, cold, and exhausted when at last he exchanged soggy robes for warm pajamas down in his own room. He desperately wanted a shower, but he didn't dare waste precious sleeping time- in a few short hours Harry would undoubtedly come bounding in to wake him up for breakfast. _Harry_. Glancing around his empty room nervously, Draco took the small boxes from his robe and carefully opened them, one at a time, examining them side by side.

It was strange, holding someone's future in the palm of his hand, and even stranger to realize how much of his own fate rested in those boxes now too. Not just strange, though- it was terrifying. Terrifying to know he might be throwing everything away on this one chance. Terrifying to think Harry might refuse him, and what would he do then? Terrifying to really see for the first time how little control he had over his own future. It was all too late to undo, though, and even if he could... he doubted he would have. Whatever happened, they were too tangled up in each other now to go back to how things had been, and in under just 48 hours he was going to find out once and for all how things were going to be.

Clutching the boxes tightly to his chest, Draco silently prayed to whoever or whatever might be listening:

"Please, let this work. Please... just let this work."


	22. The Perfect Plan: Part 2

If Draco hadn't been completely, utterly exhausted and fighting off the beginnings of a nasty cold after his long trek in the cold, there's no way that he ever would have been able to maintain the patience necessary to wait until Christmas Eve to carry out the final stage of his Perfect Plan. As it was, he just barely managed to muscle up every shred of that famous icy Malfoy persona to counteract the raw nerves that ate at him all day and left him shaken and pacing that night. In the interim, he downed as many immunity-strengthening potions as he could find. Luckily, they actually did their job for once, and as dusk approached on December 24th, everything began to fall into place. He had the boxes and their precious contents. He had the speech prepared; all that was left was to wait for the inevitable to happen. Much to Draco's pleasure, that evening just shortly after dinner while on their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room came the break he'd been waiting for:

"Oh, Draco?"

The tone didn't sound near as anticipatory as Draco had expected, but he was certain this was it. It had to be.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Well, I was just wondering…"

Here it came…

"If maybe, well… maybe…"

Yes… yes, this was it, he was sure. Draco's pulse leapt in his chest.

"Could I borrow your Potions text?"

Draco nearly missed the top step of the stairway altogether. What? No, this wasn't right.

Harry rushed on imploringly.

"You see, I was working on the homework and, well, I sort of left my book open and I guess Hedwig wanted some new paper scraps to line the nest she's been working on up in the owlery. It gets so cold in there, though, I just couldn't stay mad at her."

"Oh… um… sure, alright."

Harry smiled brightly and Draco couldn't help but think it sickeningly charming, even in the midst of his bewilderment.

"Great! I'll get it tomorrow morning when I come down. Thanks so much, Draco. I promise I'll make sure Hedwig doesn't go near it."

Draco was rattled, more than he wanted to admit. This was the first time it'd actually occurred to him that maybe, just maybe something might go wrong in the execution of his plan. Something he didn't have control over. It hadn't occurred to him to just let things fall into place when they did; he was a Slytherin! It was all about the late nights of planning, strategizing. What could he do? It had to be tonight; Christmas Eve was just so much more, well, _romantic_ than Christmas Day. All alone up in Gryffindor tower, sitting beside that measly little tree decked in garish amounts of red and gold with only the light of the fire highlighting their faces. But _Harry_ had to ask, had to give him the window of opportunity he needed to act! How could Harry, of all people on Christmas Eve, not ask about presen-

"So, I don't suppose you've gotten any presents yet?"

Draco very nearly tripped again, mentally floundering with elation and relief. Still, the seed of doubt had been planted in his mind, and he couldn't seem to shake the raw nerves eating at him. What if his plan wasn't as flawless as he'd hoped? What if-

"Oh, uh… yes, actually. I got two packages by owl today. What about you?"

Harry absolutely beamed, and an answering flutter in Draco's stomach left him feeling slightly breathless, annoyed at his lack of composure.

"Yeah! I got one from Hagrid, but I bet you anything it's a tin of treacle," Harry shuddered a little at the thought. "And then I got one from Remus just before dinner!"

Harry looked triumphant. Draco looked dumbfounded.

"Remus _Lupin_? The werewolf?"

Harry's face paled at that, and he came to an abrupt stop mid-staircase.

"Um… yeah. He's sort of a… family friend."

It was a good thing Harry stopped, or Draco might have actually tripped that time. For a long moment they exchanged a weary, wide eyed look.

"I… I had no idea." A long pause. "Will you… tell me about him sometime? I… didn't know he was a friend."

Draco was rather uneasy with this new bit of knowledge, but if there was one thing he'd learned about Harry over the last couple months, it was to never make blind, cruel statements about Harry's friends. Truth was fine, but seeing as Draco knew next to nothing (besides the werewolf part and the terrible things his father had said regarding the man) about the ex-DADA professor, he opted for the wise (and safe) option. Harry seemed genuinely pleased, much to his relief.

"Sure! When we get up to the Tower I'll tell you all about him."

The smile back in place, Harry began walking once more, Draco trailing slightly behind. It took only just under a minute for the Gryffindor to get back on the track he'd been on before the mention of Remus Lupin, as relentlessly eager about presents as Draco had counted on. Perhaps he was worrying over nothing after all.

"So, two presents you said? Do you know who they're from?"

"Mm hmm. One's from a distant cousin I haven't heard from since I was about five. Looks like a tin of cookies or something. The other one is from Pansy; I dread to even think what it might be."

Draco pulled a face at the thought, Harry laughing in response. Since he and Harry had become friends, Pansy had become snarky at best and a complete and utter bitch at worst. However, she remained far more understanding than his other friends and, joke as he might, he was genuinely pleased she'd sent him a gift. It was just one of the few covert ways she'd tried to give moral support (something that, strictly speaking, Slytherins did not usually do, and _never_ so that anyone outside their exclusive set of friends knew about). Draco smiled a little despite himself. This didn't escape Harry's notice, fueling his hopes for the question he'd been dying to ask all day.

"I was wondering if maybe you'd want to, you know… maybe open them tonight?"

At last; the moment he'd been waiting for. Perfect. Draco was beaming inwardly, the smile threatening to show on his face. He barely managed to mask it with a look of mock-surprise before he gave the game away.

"Presents? On Christmas Eve? I don't know, Harry, that seems like cheating. Besides, my presents are still all the way down in Slytherin and we've walked all the way up here-"

Harry was all too eager to cut in.

"No! It wouldn't be cheating; it's Christmas Eve, after all. Loads of people open their presents on Christmas Eve, you know. Besides, we could send Hedwig to go get them for you. She wouldn't mind, I'm sure. She could just get in through an open window and bring them back-"

"Harry… you know the windows in the dungeons aren't real; they're charmed, just like the ceiling in the Great Hall. My dormitory is underground. There'd be no way for Hedwig to get in."

Harry flushed with embarrassment at not having realized something so blatantly obvious as the fact that it was impossible for accessible windows to really exist underground. Draco, on the other hand, secretly found it mesmerizing how easily Harry was fooled by magic that he himself took for granted.

"Well, I… I suppose we could just get my presents from the Tower and go back to Slytherin. It does seem more practical then going back and forth again on seven stories of stairs."

Draco knew Harry hated how terribly cold the dungeons got at night during winter, so his willingness to spend the evening there instead of the admittedly warmer Tower showed just how anxious to open presents the Gryffindor was. Either that, or he was really just that unwilling to risk offending Draco.

"Or, how bout this: you go on up the rest of the way and I'll go back and get my presents and stop at the kitchens and tel... er... ask the house elves to send up some hot chocolate?"

"_Really_?" Draco thought Harry sounded far too much like an excited child just then for their collective own good. "That'd be brilliant! I'll see you soon, then?"

About ten minutes later Draco was pushing the propped portrait the rest of the way open, his two presents in hand and a levitating tray of hot chocolate and biscuits following close behind. Tucked securely in his trousers' pocket were the two little boxes and in them, the two most important things he'd ever purchased in his life.

Inside, the Gryffindor Common Room was exactly as he'd pictured it being in his Plan. Tiny red and gold strings of beads twinkled brightly on the sparse tree, reflecting off of gaudy ornaments and combining with the glow of the crackling fire in the hearth to cast the only light in the otherwise dark room. Beneath the tree sat what he assumed were Harry's two presents, well within arms reach of a pile of mismatched pillows and stolen sofa cushions stacked invitingly in front of the fire.

"Draco? I'll be down in a minute, alright?" Harry's voice came from upstairs and to the left.

"Alright." Draco called back. Casting a final glance around the room, he decided it couldn't have been any more perfect if he'd prepared it himself. So far so good.

By the time Draco deposited his own two presents beneath the tree and settled the tray of hot chocolate and biscuits beside the pile of cushions, Harry was just coming down the stairs with a few final pillows in hand, as well as a plush crimson blanket that Draco recognized.

Harry looked good. Not just attractive, but actually good. Barefoot, relaxed, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, and though the firelight loaned more color to his skin than was really there, the pale, sallow look was gone and the natural light the Gryffindor had always exuded had begun to return. Sure, the worn Muggle trousers and faded black shirt were still obviously too big for him, but nowhere near as drastically as before. For a dizzying moment Draco tried to push away the overly sentimental thoughts, but it seemed that he too had changed quite a bit.

"You wanna go first?" The question was merely a courtesy, Draco knew, but he was distracted by an unexpected thrill of excitement as he noticed a third package had appeared in his own pile. Harry had gotten him a present?

"You can go ahead." It sounded a little distant to his own ears, but he couldn't stop wondering; what had Harry bought him?

"We'll take turns, okay? I'll open one, then you, and so on. How's that?"

Harry had not even finished speaking before he began tearing into the haphazardly wrapped circular tin from Hagrid which, sure enough, contained an ungodly amount of rock hard, sickly sweet treacle. They both grimaced a little at the sight, not to mention the strange aroma of the stuff. Treacle wasn't meant to smell like garlic, was it? The lid was quickly put back on. Draco, likewise, received a similar tin filled with what appeared to be a very flat, very wet fruitcake. The lid to this was also quickly restored, the two tins pushed into a far corner among a flurry of stifled giggles and gagging noises, along with a half backed dare of _"Eat it!"_ and the natural response of _"You first!"_.

Harry's next gift was the one from Lupin and, much to Draco's surprise, the brown paper-wrapped parcel contained what appeared to be a decently expensive _new_ leather bound journal and a self-inking quill pen. Who would have guessed a werewolf could be so practical? Also included in the package was a very long letter which Harry, understandably, tucked away to read later. Pansy's gift, while it looked very small, proved to be amazingly thoughtful (and probably expensive). An official, self-reading certificate explained that within the next week a new falcon would be arriving for him from a private trainer. Since his owl went missing after the attack at the Manor, he had been forced to use the school owls for any letters. Plus, though he was loath to admit it, he had been quite fond of the bird and missed her terribly, which had made him hesitant to purchase a new one on his own.

"Well, I'm out of presents, so you can go ahead and open your last one." Harry prodded, pulling the blanket around him tighter in an unmistakably nervous gesture.

Draco's breath caught in his throat, the weight of the moment suddenly crashing down on him. It was time. He'd been so relaxed and comfortable, chatting and opening presents, he hadn't mentally prepared himself.

"Actually… I... I… I have a gift for you."

His voice cracked slightly under the strain, and he noticed with a surge of embarrassment that his hands were trembling as they dug around in his pocket. He couldn't seem to get a hold on those two tiny boxes out; his fingers were sweaty and clumsy all of a sudden, and he found that each time he got close the smooth corners of the boxes would slip free once more.

"You did?" Harry's face was slightly flushed, perfect white teeth sinking into his bottom lip in a poor attempt to restrain an excited grin.

The two little boxes finally free from his pocket, Draco looked from them to Harry's shy, excited face, his well-planned speech dying in his throat. He silently extended the offering, sending a mental prayer to anything that might be listening.

Harry curiously accepted the boxes, opening first one, then the other. In the moments that followed, Draco watched with a morbid enthrallment he could not break himself from as Harry's eyes widened and his jaw went slack. The room was painfully silent, the anticipation so overpowering that Draco found himself physically squirming beneath the onslaught.

For a long while Harry could do nothing but stare, for inside each of the simple black boxes, was a ring- two plain, identical platinum bands that gleamed in the firelight. The boxes tumbled from nerveless fingers to land among the pillows, and slowly green eyes rose to meet Draco's. Harry looked absolutely devastated, betrayed almost, and Draco distantly realized that this was the part where he was supposed to make words, and that if he didn't remember how to do that very soon Harry was going to run. But Draco just stared back blankly, watching Harry's eyes start to get brighter and his cheeks pinker. Draco sat there dumbly for nearly a full minute, in fact- until Harry started to get up. _No no no!_ Draco's hand shot out, grabbing Harry's before he had the chance to bolt.

"Harry, I know you're scared, but that's why I'm doing this. Why I have to do this. I… I don't want you to have to be scared, not with me, not of me. I told you I want to help you, but... it's more than that. You've helped me too. You've gotten to me. I know you saw that List; I was awake, but I was too scared. I don't want to lose you. You… you've changed me. I'm different because of you, I actually… care about something, someone. Every time I see you scared, or hurt, or crying, I feel like I have to do something or I'll just go insane. I have to try to help make some of that pain go away. I want to help in any way I can. I know you think you aren't good enough, or that I'll try to hurt you too, but that's why I want you to have these…"

Digging in the cushions, Draco brought back up the two bands, the firelight dancing off of them in beautiful, slightly dizzying patterns. Harry looked so lost that Draco felt he should stop. He knew he couldn't, though; there was no going back.

"These are called Tender-Heart rings, Harry. All you have to do is take a piece of my hair and hold it around your ring and it dissolves into the metal. Then I do the same with a piece of your hair and we each place the ring on our own finger willingly. It creates an empathic bond that lasts as long as you choose to wear the ring; you can take it off any time you want to break the bond. It'll always tell each of us how the other is feeling, how far away they are, and if they're in trouble. If you're scared or hurt or need help, I'll know. If I do something you don't want, I'll know. We could be together, and if I go too far you don't even have to say anything; I'll know and stop. I'll have to stop. Your pain will feel even stronger to me than my own; I'll never be able to hurt you. What's more, you can actually feel for yourself how much I mean everything I've just told you; you won't have to wonder whether or not I'm lying. You'll know for certain how important you are to me, how much I..."

Draco stopped, staring at Harry blankly, suddenly caught up in the hugeness of the line he was crossing.

"I..."

The words were stuck. He'd been so close to this moment so many times over the past few weeks, but each time he had forced himself to stop. It hadn't been the time then, but now it was, he'd risked it all for this- he had to say it.

"I..."

Draco looked away, taking a deep breath. _Say it. He already knows, just bloody say it._ He looked up, and Harry was staring straight at him, so he looked away again. _Of course he's staring at you. He's waiting- and watching you make a fool of yourself. _Another breath, and Draco met Harry's eyes again. Harry's face had turned bright red, his cheeks burning, his eyes unnaturally bright with unshed tears. Taking Harry's hand in his, Draco smiled- a shy, uncertain, reassuring smile (or so he hoped), and when he spoke again his voice was finally as it should have been.

"Harry, I want you to have these rings so that you can feel for yourself how much I love you."

Two long tracks of wetness rolled down Draco's cheeks, but they went ignored as he searched Harry's eyes. Harry bit back a sob.

"I can't… Draco, this is too much. I don't deserve-"

"Yes, you do! More than anyone else, you deserve this! Please, Harry… please. Just give it a chance, feel how much I mean this. Don't say no just because of some misguided delusions of worthlessness you might have. Don't say no at all, unless it's because you don't want this sort of relationship with me."

Harry's shoulders tensed visibly, brow furrowing with doubt. He found, though, that as hard as he might try to deny it, Draco's words were certainly appealing. The thought of being able to explore a relationship with the boy he'd come to see as his closest friend was, in fact, nothing short of a dream come true. A rather recent dream, admittedly, but one that was decidedly startling in its intensity. It took a few minutes, but eventually Harry managed to work up the courage and reached for the proffered ring, surprised to find it warm and slightly slippery with sweat. Draco was nervous, too?

Grabbing one lone blonde hair, Draco yanked it free, offering it to the wary boy before him. Doing as he was instructed, Harry wound the strand tight across the ring's surface, watching in wonder as the hair sunk into the metal and made the ring glow softly with a light all its own. When the spark resided, he was surprised to see it left a razor thin stripe of dark green around the center of the ring. Still gazing at the platinum band in wonder, Harry plucked out a strand of his own dark, unruly mop, passing it to the other boy, who did the same. Contrary to the thin red band they had both been silently expecting to appear, a thin stripe of gold materialized instead. After a moment of speculation Draco smiled.

"Guess you really are the Golden Boy after all."

Harry couldn't suppress a disbelieving snort of laughter from escaping, looking up to meet Draco's eyes and quickly sobering at what he found there. The difference was so subtle Harry couldn't even identify exactly what it was- something warmer in Draco's eyes, something seemingly intimate about his smile. Had that look been there before and he just hadn't noticed? No... it was too beautiful. He definitely would have noticed eyes like that watching him before. Harry smiled back, and it felt like the most heartfelt one he'd offered in a long time.

Draco made the first move, slipping the ring onto his left index finger, watching as the metal band expanded then tightened, adjusting to the proper size. For a terrifying moment nothing happened, panic surging in his chest at the thought that somehow something had gone wrong. It only then occurred to him that Harry was only just fumbling the ring onto his right index finger, watching with unconcealed wonder as it too expanded and contracted before settling innocently enough into place. Harry looked up, inquisitive green eyes asking the question his lips were just parting to speak when a spark caught both their eyes, drawing their attention swiftly back down.

The rings had both begun to glow softly, steadily brighter. A gentle humming was coming from the metal, and a tickle was starting to work its way up Harry's arm, originating just beneath the ring and spreading, seeping through the layers of skin and blood and muscle until it seemed to burrow its way into his bones. Harry gave a hoarse shout as the tickle sharpened into a biting sting, zipping up his arm like lightening before splintering at his shoulder and branching off into a thousand different directions, delving and penetrating into every living fiber of his being. Harry looked up, panicked eyes catching Draco's and holding for just a split second before everything around them dissolved into pure, white light, blinding in its sheer intensity. Harry cried out again, curling in on himself. It felt as if his chest was being sliced clean down the center, gaping and empty for a long, shuddering slice of eternity. Harry was distantly aware of strong, reassuring arms enveloping him, as well as Draco's own keening cry against his shoulder, but he could not seem to concentrate on either of these. It felt like he was dying, like he'd had is heart ripped forcibly from his chest. Just as quickly, though, it was being replaced with something new and completely unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. The gaping hole in his chest was being flooded with warmth, brief, indiscernible snatches of thought and waves of feeling blooming inside him, at once both familiar and strange, though certainly not unpleasant. The emotions seemed to feed off of each other, echoing and ricocheting off his insides until he felt strangely full, pleasantly warm and startlingly aware of a presence within him that was not his own. The feelings did not stop there, though; they continued to build, feeding off each other until he felt near to bursting. Harry began to panic again as the raw emotion eating at him reached unbearable, terrified that any second he might explode with the sheer intensity of it all, trying to somehow squirm out from beneath the suffocating sensations but it was as if he was paralyzed. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could barely think. It felt like he was drowning

A second pulse of light burst through the room, visibly wavering beneath its own intensity and rocking through the overwhelming, indescribable sensations threatening to consume him, splintering, breaking through and allowing the excess of emotion to drain slowly away. As it did so, the light likewise began fading too, flickering before it disappeared altogether into nothingness, gone as abruptly as it had come. Harry tried to jerk his head up, tried to look around for Draco but found his muscles were too weak and shaky to sit up just yet, and his vision too blurred with dark, dancing spots of color to see anything properly. It wasn't until the blood started to rush back to his tingling extremities that Harry became aware of the arms encircling him and the hands rubbing haphazard circles into his back. Adrenaline flooded Harry at this realization, his already cantering heart jolting with surprise. Harry's intuitive response was to try to run, but as quickly as the word was written in his mind it was being erased by a slow, steady warmth. It felt like a smile was blooming in his chest, like being reassured without words.

Draco smoothed a hand through the black, sweat-matted hair tickling his throat, pulling Harry's limp form more comfortably against him than their unconscious actions during the bonding had allowed for. He felt the muscles beneath his hands tense, felt his own heart rate step up in response and could stop neither the exuberant smile that overcame him, nor the overwhelming sense of contentment warming him; it had worked.

Time passed by indefinitely, insignificant in the little sanctuary they had made. Words likewise became meaningless, currents of emotion passing back and forth, conveying things far deeper than any verbal language was capable of describing.

For a long time, Harry enjoyed the comfortable silence. Eventually, though, it started to weigh on him, and the overwhelming feel of _Draco_ in his chest began to take its toll. Just as he'd thought it, though, the concentration of the link weakened to a slightly more tolerable level. Harry hadn't thought it possible to relax any further, but he did.

"You meant it…" he whispered reverently. He knew it certainly wasn't necessary to voice it, but saying it aloud somehow helped to reassure him it wasn't all just a pleasant dream.

"Of course I meant it, you ninny."

Draco pulled back a bit so he could see the other boy's face, expression shifting from one of long suffered annoyance to a soft, almost vulnerable look.

"Harry, you… you mean more to me than anything."

The declaration lay there, simple and undemanding and Harry could feel it, feel that every ounce of that statement was true. He didn't need to say anything back, Draco could feel it, too, and that was all they needed. Carefully, long, smooth fingers slipped wire-framed glasses from Harry's face, folding them and setting them near the hot chocolate tray. Without his glasses, Harry's eyes were even bigger and more vivid than Draco remembered, long, dark lashes quivering as they closed halfway. Warm hands cupped even warmer cheeks, and for a moment all Draco could do was stare, watching the skin beneath his hands flush, utterly enthralled. Before he even realized what he was doing, Draco found himself leaning in as if magnetically drawn.

Harry shivered at the feel of warm breath ghosting across his face, a tremor rocking through him as their lips caught, hot and slightly damp, clinging. A smooth thumb brushed Harry's cheek, stroking down across his jaw and further to his throat. Harry's breath caught, fingers tangling in fine strands of white-blonde hair. They were both overly warm from the fire and the kiss and Draco kicked aside the red plush blanket they'd been sharing. Lips pulled slowly apart, noses still pressed lightly together as eyelashes fluttered, barely open, searching languidly before the slightest dart of a tongue across Harry's chapped lower lip had Draco's eyes squeezing shut on a muted groan, soft gasps seeming to suck out little wisps of his soul. Lips met over and over, slow but slightly desperate, the frustration of the past few weeks dripping from them as trouser clad legs tangled and they shifted closer. The muscles of Draco's shoulders tensed and relaxed under Harry's fingers, the slightly rough, calloused skin catching occasionally on the thin barrier of dampening cotton between them and sending shivers chasing down Draco's sides. Grabbing at Harry's wandering hands he rolled onto his back, pulling Harry on top of him before administering another kiss, then another, this time probing his tongue lightly between Harry's lips. The answering paroxysm of unease the action elicited was clear and final, though slightly disappointing, and Draco did not press further. Tongue firmly back in his own mouth, Draco placed one last apologetic kiss on the tip of Harry's nose before guiding the dark, unruly head down to his chest and pulling the blanket back up from where it had been discarded. Thus they eventually dozed off, a tangle of content sighs and sleepy smiles as the enchanted fire burned on beside them all night.


	23. The Morning After

Draco woke early the next morning feeling disoriented and overly warm, the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling with sweat. Still mostly asleep, he kicked at his blankets halfheartedly only to discover with mild annoyance that they kicked right back. Wincing, Draco opened his eyes, blinking groggily to clear his bleary vision, slowly gaining focus on the tangle of soft black hair in his face. Reality came rushing back instantly, a tightening in his stomach spreading a different kind of heat shuddering through his veins, leaving him feeling weak and breathless. Harry Potter was curled up feline-like atop him, face pressed against the curve of his throat. And he was licking. The tiny press of soft, warm tongue against skin was unmistakable and it caused Draco to go rigid all over, hands clawing at the pillows beneath him, half afraid Harry would stop any moment and half afraid that he wouldn't.

Harry was slow to wake, still caught in the remnants of pleasant dreams but slowly becoming aware of unfamiliar tendrils of excitement and anxiety pulling him towards consciousness. He squirmed deeper into the softness enveloping him.

The slow, exquisite torture of Harry's unconscious ministrations eventually relinquished as the dark haired boy became increasingly aware of his surroundings. He was blissfully warm, and when he opened his eyes he was met with a smooth, pale expanse of throat so close he didn't even need his glasses to recognize it. As if the faint hint of cologne lingering there wasn't identifiable enough. A soft smile tugged at Harry's lips as he moved slightly, wriggling closer only to realize there was something distinctly hard nudging his hip. Harry jumped back as if he'd been burnt, nearly crushing his own glasses in the scramble.

Draco couldn't remember ever being so embarrassed in his life. Harry's fear was palpable in the air between them and it hit Draco like a solid kick in the gut; it took only a matter of seconds to obliterate every trace of unintentional desire and very effectively eliminated his... problem. Well, at least the rings were working. Draco tried to calm down enough to send Harry reassuring feelings, but all he could think was, _"Shit, it hasn't even been 24 hours__ and I've already gone and bollocksed it up."_

"Harry, I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to. I wouldn't do anything, you know that…"

Draco watched Harry glance frantically around the room for a few moments as the panicked, sleep-fogged Gryffindor tried to mentally sort things out. The emotions coming through the link were powerful to the point of overwhelming, and they hit Draco so hard he could only sit and try to breathe, measuring the long moments that passed in quick, stuttering heartbeats; thirty-seven in total before he felt the tension whoosh from Harry on an exhausted sigh. Eyes drooping closed, Harry flopped bonelessly back into the nest of pillows and pulled one over his face. When he spoke again his voice was muffled and tense.

"_Fuck_. Draco....I'm sorry. I didn't- I shouldn't have acted like that. I know you wouldn't... I mean, it's just-"

"Hey-" Draco interrupted, carefully climbing down to lay beside the other boy once more, removing the pillow from Harry's face and tossing it back into the pile. Harry's face was pink, and he looked very startled when Draco smiled and pushed black bangs off of his forehead. "Just nothing. It's fine. I'm sorry I... startled you."

Harry's tense shoulders relaxed a little at that, and Draco took the opportunity to carefully slide a little closer, slipping his arm around Harry's waist. They were pressed almost-flush, but the 'almost' faded quickly when Harry finally relaxed and seemingly melted into the little dips and hollows Draco had left between them. Mildly surprised but incredibly reassured by this, Draco pressed on, curious to see if he could earn himself something even better.

"I mean it, Harry. It'll just be like that for a while, I know, while we get use to things. And while I may not have much control over physical reactions and blood flow, I do have enough restraint not to shag you silly before you decide you're good and ready- however long that may take."

The words thankfully made it out of his mouth sounding both sincere and playful, but the moment they were out he couldn't help but hold his breath. They were very bold words, very risky, but as he'd hoped Harry laughed, smiling up from where he'd half-hidden his face in the pillows. Draco couldn't help but smile back. _Yes._ Leaning in, he pressed a light, breathy, butterfly kiss to Harry's forehead. Then another, and another, as he slowly set about brushing his lips over every inch of Harry's face- down the bridge of his nose and across closed eyes, over sharp cheekbones and into the soft dips beneath, along his jaw and up his chin before finally he found Harry's lips, pressing a chain of slow, gentle kisses to the warm, chapped lips shyly tilting up to meet his own. Each kiss seemed to coax Harry a little further out of hiding, and when Draco's lips parted his a moment later Harry's hands tangled in the front of Draco's jumper, tugging him closer with what felt and sounded suspiciously like an 'mmm' against Draco's mouth. The warmth coming through the bond was all-encompassing; deepest contentment converted to heat that tingled straight through bones, edged with excitement and growing need. Harry pulled away just a fraction, flushed and panting, to grace Draco with the hugest, silliest grin the Slytherin had ever seen. A laugh accompanied the smile, and it was so natural and pure and unrestrained Draco's breath caught.

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

Their noses bumped lightly together, lips brushing lips as Harry spoke.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

Draco sighed, and to his surprise Harry initiated the next kiss, leaning back in that last little breath and pressing their lips lightly together, lingering a moment before repeating the motion again, and again, and again in a long chain of hot, chaste, breathy kisses. Draco fought back a groan of his own as he let Harry have his way, too pleased by this development to care that it might kill him any moment.

"You never got to open your last present." Harry stated matter-of-factly when he finally pulled away, sitting up and crawling through the mess of cushions to snatch the bag from under the tree.

"Oh... right," Draco panted as he struggled to sit back up as well, feeling very warm and a little lightheaded from the sudden lack of blood-flow to his brain. In all the excitement the previous evening (and that morning) he had admittedly forgotten about Harry's present for him, but the anticipation was quick to return as he crawled forward to join Harry beneath the tree.

It wasn't just anticipation, though; Draco was starting to feel a little nervous, but he wasn't quite sure why. His chest was suddenly tight, palms sweaty and heart racing. _Bloody hell_, his hands were practically _shaking_ as he accepted the red and green bag from fingers trembling even worse than his own. It was then he noticed how hard Harry was biting his lip and how deeply the other boy had dug his nails into his own palms.

"_Wow..._" Draco found himself thinking incredulously. "_He's even more nervous than I am."_

It gave Draco quite a jolt when a moment later he made the connection between Harry's rampant blush and the color creeping over his own cheeks. Draco wasn't nervous- that was all Harry's anxiety, dripping slowly through their bond, and it was quite possibly the most amazing thing he'd ever experienced. Knowing someone, anyone, let alone _Harry, _felt that nervous because of _him_ was intoxicating, and he knew nothing in the tissue-crammed bag he was holding could ever top that particular gift.

"Hmm… wonder who it could be from…" He murmured teasingly, delighting in Harry's wide, excited eyes as he pulled out the wadded up tissue paper on top and pulled out a soft bundle wrapped in paper before cautiously ripping it open.

And then came a moment in which Draco could only stare, and as he stared he realized that since meeting Harry he had been wrong about many many things, and that perhaps it might be time to stop making definitive statements in his head.

In his hands was a warm, soft, slightly wonky Slytherin scarf. However, upon closer inspection it proved to be very unique, for down at one end was a detailed patch of embroidery in which a green and silver snake twined around a black lightning bolt. It took Draco a long while to even be able to tear his eyes away from the swatch of fabric clutched in his fingers, but when at last he did look at Harry he found the boy blushing furiously.

"Harry, did you… _make_ this?"

If possible Harry's cheeks darkened further, and he bit his lip so hard it left tiny indents in the flesh when he opened his mouth to speak.

"Um. Yeah. I mean, I used magic, but... yeah. I know it's nothing compared to what you gave me, but… I hope you don't hate it too much. I haven't been able to go to Hogsmeade yet this year so I-"

Draco didn't give the silly Gryffindor further chance to be self-depreciating. Gripping the scarf in one hand he all but tackled the other boy, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Oh shut up you beautiful, amazing idiot. I can't believe you made this for me. It's… it's.."

Draco looked again at the slightly uneven stitching, toying with a sticky-out spot that he was pretty sure wasn't supposed to be there.

"It's perfect."

Harry looked up at him disbelievingly, biting his slightly swollen lower lip again. "Really?"

Leaning in, Draco caught that thoroughly abused lower lip and gently sucked it into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue. Harry shivered, and when Draco pulled back enough to breathlessly whisper, "Really," Harry  
was forced to concede that yes, Draco really did like his present.

No other owls had arrived for them during the night, but neither boy seemed to notice- let alone care. They were both perfectly content with exactly what they had.

~*~

To say breakfast was a quiet affair would be an understatement. In fact, the only other people in the Hall when they arrived was Professor Flitwick and one lone Hufflepuff first year whom Draco (with much prodding) eventually allowed to sit with them. Luckily the girl was so thankful for the company she seemed not to notice their shy smiles at all, nor the fact that just below the table their hands were linked over Draco's knee, rings unnaturally warm where metal occasionally brushed metal.

It was with no small amount of pleasure that Draco soon excused both himself and Harry from the girl's company, and though Harry waved at her apologetically over his shoulder he put up no resistance as Draco tugged him out through the castle's massive doors and into the cold.

Outside, it was beautiful. Since Draco's late-night journey the wet, dirty slush had been replaced with light, powdery snow that dusted the trees, painting the world white and crunching pleasantly underfoot as they walked. They wandered aimlessly for a long time, sides pressed flush and cold fingers tangled together. However, as they walked along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry found himself shivering despite his warm cloak and Draco's new scarf, which they shared. Somehow the chill went deeper than skin and bone, and though it took a while for him to identify it, Harry was fast becoming uncomfortably aware of what it was. A dark sense of foreboding had been creeping up his spine since they'd left the Tower and it was slowly starting to seep through his chest, unfurling icy tongues of fear and doubt. A sort of inexplicable heaviness seemed to be settling over his shoulders as well, and though at first the frozen air had soothed it a bit, Harry's lungs were starting to burn too.

However, oppressive though these feelings were becoming, nothing could be as bad as the gentle nudge of warmth that had begun bleeding in around the edges of his consciousness. Draco. As Harry's mood had slowly worsened, he had literally _felt_ Draco's concern building. Harry knew it was only a matter of time, and when Draco finally stopped dead in the the middle of the path he was ready.

"Harry-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

It was more than that though. What was there to say? Harry found he had absolutely no reason at all to feel the way he did. In fact, he couldn't imagine anything that could have made the moment better; Draco warm and caring at his side, fingers twined as they walked along, the occasional jolt of warmth as their rings brushed. It was perfection in its purest, sweetest form. He couldn't have asked for a more extraordinary moment.

Harry abruptly moved away, his end of the scarf dropping limply to land in the snow. The self-loathing curling in his chest was near crushing in its intensity, his thoughts jumbled and contradicting and suddenly all he wanted to do was curl up somewhere and cry. He hadn't even realized he'd started to run until he became conscious of just how far away Draco's voice sounded as it called after him.

"Harry! Harry, wait!"

Draco broke into a run after the dark blur moving quickly away from him. Feelings of Harry's guilt and confusion had been gnawing at him increasingly for most of the morning, but now they fairly poured off of the other boy, making it hard for Draco to breathe.

Harry, despite his increasing health, was still in notably worse physical condition than Draco was, especially with hot, shameful tears clouding his vision. However, the Gryffindor did have a head start, and had nearly reached the Lake by the time Draco caught up. Strong fingers caught at first his cloak, then his arm and Harry struggled to break away, thrashing and pulling fiercely against Draco so that the Slytherin lost his footing in the snow and they both tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Merlin, Harry. What's wrong?"

Harry found himself on his back in the snow and he stared dazedly up at the frosted trees above him as Draco pushed the hair from his face. He felt clammy and shaken, but mostly torn; he desperately wanted to keep running, but part of him was aching to stay tangled up with Draco where he lay. Groaning, Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight, blocking it all out and letting his head sink back into the cold, wet snow.

"Harry-"

"I don't know, okay! I don't know what's wrong. One second everything was fine; better than fine, it was bloody brilliant. Then all of a sudden all I wanted to do was run away and cry. I couldn't breathe, I felt trapped. I can't… I can't do this, Draco…"

Grabbing the ring, he forcibly pulled it off, shoving it at Draco. The Slytherin visibly flinched as the bond was broken, a cold and sudden surge of emptiness seizing him. Harry winced a little himself, but still he persisted.

"Take it back, please. I can't accept this. I can't be with you. Even with the ring I'm too scared, too messed up for it to ever be fair for you. Please, I can't do this, Draco I don't deserve this. Please..."

Frustration and self-loathing had Harry close to tears, but Draco would not take back the ring. Fingers numb from cold and desperation, the band slipped free to land soundlessly in the snow.

"Harry, listen. Do you not understand the meaning of the words 'I love you'?"

Blank green eyes stared back at him. Draco sighed and slid the scarf from around his neck, tucking it between Harry's head and the snow.

"Alright, listen up Mr. Savior of the Wizarding World, and I'll define it for you. It means that even though you may think you're stupid and worthless and all that utter rubbish, to me you're important for some strange reason. I guess you could say you're precious to me, maybe even so much as vital. It means that as much as you cry or run away or break down, that I still want to be there to catch you and help pick up the pieces again. It means that even when you feel like being a complete prat, or you fancy giving me another split lip, I'll just hold you down and kiss you until you realize just what a git you actually were and apologize properly. It means that if you do, in fact, decide you don't want this," He fished around in the snow for a moment before producing the ring once more, "Then you'll probably need to tie me up, stuff me in a bag and chuck me into the Lake to ever truly be rid of me."

Sitting up and dusting away the snow, Draco extended the ring to Harry once again. Harry looked dumbfounded.

"Oh. Is that what people mean when they say they love someone?"

Draco faltered momentarily. He was suddenly acutely aware of the actual weight of everything he had just said, but was having a hard time believing he'd really just said it all aloud- let alone how easily the words had come. He could feel his face burning, and something was screaming at him to find a way to take those words back, but Harry was looking awfully hopeful, so instead he smiled (albeit a little shyly) and said, "Well… it's what I mean, anyhow."

Harry timidly reached forward, his hand hovering above Draco's for a moment before clumsy, snow-numbed fingers took the ring and slid it back into place. They both tensed a little, anticipating the overwhelming flood of alternating heat and pain from the night before, but this time there was only warmth. Gentle, shuddering warmth that felt like sweet relief after the emptiness. Draco slid forward on his knees in the snow, cupping Harry's face with his hand and drawing him in for a slow, hot kiss. From the way Harry whimpered when Draco pulled away, apparently it worked very well. It occurred to Draco that perhaps it had worked slightly too well when he found himself pinned on his back in the snow, Harry's lips all but prying his own open before he felt the hot, torturous ecstasy of Harry Potter's tongue dipping forward to investigate. Itching to retaliate but hesitant of Harry's volatile emotions, Draco lay perfectly still as his mouth was explored, every last ridge of tooth and tongue touched and tasted before Harry mumbled against his lips, "This is the part where you kiss me back, ferret." Another lingering kiss. "After all, I rather thought I'd been a prat. What was it again you said you'd do when I was a prat?"

In a flurry of snow Harry found himself on his back, thoroughly pinned down as Draco had promised with a hot, demanding yet shockingly chaste kiss pressed to his lips. Then, before Harry even knew what hit him, a handful of snow was roughly shoved down the front of his jumper and Draco was already on his feet and running off towards the castle.

"No fair!" Harry managed as he scrambled to his feet, shaking the snow from his jumper as he took off running after Draco.

"Is too!" Draco called back, bending to scoop up a handful of snow as he ran, "You already admitted you'd been a prat! You did my job for me!"

Draco turned as he spoke, arm poised to lob a snowball at the dark haired boy, only to get pegged directly in the face himself. Momentarily blinded and slightly disoriented, Draco swiped the snow from his face as fast as he could, turning around every which way as he looked for Harry- only to get hit in the face again.

"That's it! This is war now, you realize!"

Whipping out his wand, Draco transfigured a nearby rock into a passable snow fort, ducking behind it and setting a charm that had the snow rolling itself into convenient balls for Draco to throw. Harry's wand, still up in the Tower on the stand beside his bed, did him absolutely no good.

As the war progressed rather one-sidedly in the clearing beside the Lake, three undetected pairs of cold, black eyes watched stoically from the window of a room high on the 7th floor of the castle. As the center figure moved slowly away from the window another turned, a low gravely voice breaking the silence.

"When?"

A long moment of contemplation passed before the center figure smirked.

"Not yet…" A high, strange voice whispered in response, pale freckled fingers ghosting over a plush red blanket folded over the back of the sofa before beckoning the other two to follow.

The three set off down a long hall that adjoined the room, disappearing one-by-one down the revolving staircase that would take them back into the deepest, darkest hollows of the castle.

"Not yet, but soon."


	24. The Terror of the Night

The week following Christmas was the closest Draco Malfoy had ever been to heaven. With nearly every last student gone on holiday, he and Harry were free to spend virtually every moment of every day together. The Gryffindor common room in particular became something of a sanctuary where they whiled away the long, cold hours of the night tucked tightly together beneath Harry's favorite red plush blanket, sharing stories and careful kisses. And, seeing as how there was no one around to object, Draco took to spending the night on the common room couch with Harry several times over the duration of the week. Frighteningly enough, by Saturday Draco was beginning to feel more at home in Gryffindor Tower than in his own dormitory. But then again, anywhere that Harry was seemed like a rather good place to be.

The best thing of all, however, was without a doubt the flying. Watching Harry Potter fly had always been something that fascinated Draco, though admittedly the reasons for his current staring were vastly different than they had been in the past. Over the course of the week following Christmas, he and Harry had spent nearly every day out on the Quidditch pitch in the icy wind, and the change in the dark haired boy was absolutely remarkable. At first glance, it was hard to tell Harry had ever stopped flying at all; already the confidence was returning, along with a subtle hint of the sleek layers of muscle that use to be there. The lightning fast reflexes and remarkable coordination had also begun to resurface, and when Draco had suggested they spend the last day of break playing a friendly game of "Snitch", Harry was overjoyed. After losing 3 of the 5 matches, Draco was feeling torn between pride in Harry's progress and a hint of jealousy. The sheer waves of happiness radiating from the Gryffindor were so overwhelming, though, that Draco didn't have too long to feel sorry for himself before he got completely caught up in the moment as well. Of course, the fact that Harry looked so utterly wicked riding a borrowed Nimbus 2001 certainly helped matters a bit. Draco managed to win half of the next six matches, but the fact that Harry was beginning to look thoroughly knackered might have had a little something to do with that.

Harry was so tired, in fact, that he nearly fell asleep over dinner, eyes drooping and muscles relaxing until the spoon slipped from his fingers to land in his soup with a loud clatter and a splash. Soon afterwards, Draco escorted him back to the Tower and, once inside, Harry barely made it to the sofa before collapsing into a boneless heap, weighted eyes slipping shut immediately without even a simple "good night". Draco was slightly disappointed and more than a little hesitant to let the last night of holidays end so early. With the return of the other students and the impending start of term it was hard to say when he would get another chance to spend time with Harry like they had that week. He knew he would need to be down in his own dormitory come morning, but instead of leaving like he knew he should, he slid silently onto the sofa instead. Propping the sleeping boy's head onto his chest, he pulled the well-loved red blanket over them before settling in for a final night together in front of the fire before the demands of school took over once more.

_The icy chill tickling the tiny hairs on the back of Harry's neck was a familiar terror that instantly set the Gryffindor trembling. It seemed to Harry his eyes had only been closed for a moment before the chill took hold and had his eyes shooting back open, darting around frantically. The cocoon of safety and warmth that had surrounded him all week evaporated around him, slipping through his fingers like mist and leaving only darkness in its wake. Like so many times before, Harry found himself huddled in a tiny circle of light, the shadows surrounding him on all sides, lapping hungrily at the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet where they broke the circle.  
_

"_Harry, we've missed you."  
_

_A shrill, otherworldly voice that resounded from the darkness all around had Harry staggering to his feet, turning in circles in an effort to pinpoint where it had come from._

"_Indeed, we've missed you so very much, Mr. Potter. I do hope you've enjoyed your holiday?"_

_Another voice this time, low and deep and mocking, accompanied by a light touch that trickled down Harry's spine like ice water. He turned again, heart pounding frantically in his chest, but he could see nothing._

"_Oh course he's missed us, haven't ya, Harry? I know he'd never avoid us on purpose. You remember what happened last time you avoided me, don't you, Harry?"_

_Harry whirled about again just in time to see a pale blur moments before it connected with his nose. The loud, sick crunch that accompanied the burst of pain made his knees go weak. His face was wet. He tasted blood._

"_He's certainly been avoiding me. He hasn't been pleased with my achievements at all."_

_Another voice, similar to the previous one yet slightly higher, and very sulky. The sharp blow to the back that followed had him instantly on the floor, the breath catching in his throat._

"_Yes, he hasn't been pleased for me either. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was jealous."_

_A new voice broke the silence and smooth, feminine hands grabbed at him roughly, sharp nails gouging his skin and drawing blood as he was pulled struggling onto his back._

"_Oh Harry, and here I thought maybe you'd learned your lesson."_

_Harry broke from the haze of pain and fear enveloping him and began thrashing in earnest; he knew that voice. The shadow man. The man in white. The one who had done this to him. But then there were countless pairs of unseen shadow hands clutching and clawing at his legs, dragging him away from the tiny circle of light._

"_No! No, please… stop. Let go, no…"_

_Harry clawed at the ground, kicking out at the nightmare phantoms pulling him slowly further into the darkness._

"_You heard Harry; stop. After all, he certainly hasn't been avoiding me."_

_A disturbingly familiar drawl tickled the sensitive skin of his ear. The hands clutching his legs vanished, only to be replaced by a pale, elegant pair tearing at his jumper from behind, ripping the fabric from him forcibly._

"_In fact, Harry, you've become quite attached to me, haven't you?"_

_Harry had begun sobbing, pushing at the hands but they clung roughly to his skin, pulling and tugging at him painfully, cruel fingers bruising flesh._

"_Please no… no it can't be you.. you can't, he wouldn't!"_

_The hands slid lower, tearing open his trousers and pushing them down before grabbing a handful of black hair and dragging Harry to his knees before shoving his head down until his face was on the floor and his arse in the air._

"_Wouldn't I, Harry? Are you so certain? But you will let me, won't you?"_

_Harry was trapped, thrashing desperately as the hands stroked his back lovingly before reaching around and twining their fingers together._

"_After all, Harry, you know how very much I love you."_

_There was a nauseating click of metal against metal on his hand, a gentle blush of warmth in his chest before his world was ripped apart by pain, his body forcibly entered._

"_Harry! Harry!"_

_All the voices were laughing now, calling his name, reaching through the useless barrier of light to pinch and scratch, kick and squeeze his exposed flesh.  
_

"_Harry!"_

_Through the veil of tears clouding his eyes, Harry could just make out the gold-striped ring on the hand that was pinning his own to the floor._

"Harry!"

Harry woke with a start, tumbling to the floor with a thud. His breath came in rushed, shallow gasps as he looked around, his hands clutching numbly at his chest to find his jumper still intact.

"Harry, are you okay?"

From behind him a pale, smooth hand came to rest on his shoulder and Harry yelped, whirling and striking blindly at his assailant.

"Don't touch me! No! No…"

Harry collapsed to the floor, clutching his arms tightly about himself, trembling uncontrollably as tears flooded his eyes, blinding him.

Draco was frozen on the spot, his cheek stinging where Harry had slapped him, a thin stripe of red quickly darkening where Harry's nails scratched him. Mere moments ago he'd been peacefully dozing when the other boy's thrashing had woken him. Now Harry was sobbing and hyperventilating in a shaking mass on the floor, panic and fear like he'd never felt before threatening to suffocate him. When Draco finally found his voice it was weak and anxious, catching and breaking in his throat.

"Harry?"

The only response was a high, keening wail that made Draco's skin prickle all over. Draco's mind was racing, grasping desperately for something, anything that might help. When several minutes passed and no clear course of action was forthcoming in his mind, he opted for gathering up Harry's red blanket from where it had been discarded at the foot of the couch, carefully draping it over trembling shoulders. Draco watched with bated breath as Harry momentarily flinched before grabbing the fabric and cocooning himself within it.

"Harry… can you hear me? It's okay now, you're safe. No one else is here; it's just me, Draco. Harry, I'm going to put my hand on your back, alright? Don't be scared, it's just me…"

Slowly, gently, Draco extended his had, his fingertips barely brushing the blanket before Harry flinched violently away. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, fingers clenching and unclenching around handfuls of red fringe as he cautiously raised his eyes to meet Draco's.

"Don't… don't touch me."

A wave of queasiness struck Draco at those words, and with a terrible jolt he realized he was the cause of the new swell of terror through the link that was threatening to drown him. It was overwhelming, and if the feelings didn't calm soon he worried he might get swept up in Harry's pain entirely.

"Alright, I won't touch you. See?" Hands up in surrender, Draco sat back in what he hoped was a nonthreatening posture.

Harry wasn't sure if he was awake or if he was still dreaming. The blanket wrapped around him felt real enough, and the Draco sitting on the couch before him seemed like the caring, concerned boy he had come to care for. However, the ache in his nose was also very real, as was the pain in his back, his stomach and his arse. The distinct taste of blood in his mouth didn't seem like a figment of his imagination either.

"Get out."

"What?"

Draco's eyes went wide, jaw slack as anger, frustration and indignation welled up in his chest. First and foremost of all these emotions, however, was worry and a painful twinge of fear deep in Draco's gut.

"Harry, no, I can't leave you like this. You're terrified; I think you're in shock. Merlin, Harry, you're bleeding!"

Draco slid to the floor beside Harry, hand automatically reaching to stop the thick, glistening drop trailing from Harry's nose towards his mouth. The instant his knees touched the floor, though, Harry was on his feet, hand flying to incredulously touch the blood pooling on his upper lip as he backed shakily away.

"Don't touch me! Get out, go!"

The blanket was still dangling limply from Harry's fingers, though, and as he tried to retreat his feet tangled in it and he tripped, stumbling backwards, choking on vertigo and crying out as his head clipped the corner of a table, his eyes fluttering before rolling back in his head.

Draco was at his side in an instant, untangling Harry's legs from the blanket and sliding his limp body to lay flat on the floor before scrambling for his wand in the sofa cushions. Harry was halfway conscious and mumbling incoherently when Draco returned, eyes wide and glassy.

"Merlin, Harry…"

Draco ran his hand under Harry's head, and while the other boy flinched a little, there was thankfully no blood. Pulling open Harry's eyes one at a time, Draco examined them carefully, but nothing seemed unusual. Still, afraid of hurting or scaring the other boy further, Draco cast a _Mobilicorpus_ to move him back to the couch.

"I don't think you've got a concussion or anything, but still, try not to move around too much."

Draco sat down on the floor, tenderly pushing the dark hair out of the other boy's face, absently wondering where Harry's glasses had ended up in the shuffle. Harry moaned softly in pain, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

"Shh, just try to sleep, alright? You'll feel better in the morning, I promise."

Leaning forward, Draco placed a gentle kiss on Harry's cheek.

"Please… don't hurt me…"

The whimpered plea hurt more than the slap in the face had, and Draco bit his lip hard, eyes stinging a little.

"I won't, Harry. Never. I love you. Just go to sleep. I'll watch over you tonight."

The last thing Harry remembered before he slipped off to sleep was the feel of Draco's hand gently closing around his, the brush of their rings sending a comforting tingle of warmth through him that calmed his nerves and numbed the waves of pain threatening to drown him.

~*~

When Harry woke the next morning he was alone and the only hints of the previous night's terror were a strange series of phantom pains that faded the more he tried to pinpoint their actual locations, and an extraordinary headache. A momentary wave of panic rose before Harry remembered why Draco wasn't there.

"Right… holidays are over."

As if to punctuate that statement, a crowd of loud, rowdy Gryffindors chose that moment to burst through the portrait hole. In an instant Harry was surrounded by Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all loudly demanding how he'd spent his holidays and why he hadn't sent them presents. For a moment, Harry worried that perhaps he should take off the ring so they wouldn't ask about it. It quickly became obvious, though, that no one was interested in the unusual ring on his finger, and Harry was profusely thankful for that. He felt truly awful, but the soft, familiar buzz of Draco's presence deep in his chest was a welcome comfort; even if the only feeling it emitted all day was worry.

~*~

Author's Note: Please be aware that letting someone with a recent head injury go to sleep is the absolute WRONG thing to do. Draco's actions here are part of a literary device that will be explained later in the story and should not be imitated in a real-life scenario.


	25. The Answers

Draco didn't manage to catch another glimpse of Harry until the dark haired boy sprinted into Potions first thing Monday morning a mere thirty seconds before lessons were due to start. To make matters worse, despite his valiant efforts to save Harry a seat next to him, Pansy had abruptly settled herself beside him and had been prattling on nonstop ever since. Time ticked slowly by as Draco tried to block out the rambling girl beside him enough to discern the myriad of emotions Harry was giving off. He was so engrossed in the dark haired boy across the room that it was not until some long minutes later when the room dropped into awkward silence that Draco even realized the bell had rung some time ago, but Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen. Another quarter hour passed in this manner, the students looking anxiously about, afraid to speak, expecting that at any moment the doors would burst open in a flurry of black robes, and a deluge of point deductions would rain down upon them all. When the door finally did open, it was in a slow and peaceful way to admit a purple and turquoise clad figure rather than the ominous black clad terror they had been expecting. A shared breath was held as a strangely amused Headmaster strode in, glancing from face to face and trying to suppress a smile.

"May I have your attention, please?"

As if the iridescent fuscia hat and overwhelming smell of ginger snaps accompanying Albus Dumbledore's presence, paired with the heavy tension in the room had not been enough to gain the bewildered students' undivided concentration.

"As I am certain you have noticed, lessons began twenty-three minutes ago, and yet you seem to be lacking a Potions Master. I assure you there is no need for alarm; Severus is merely dealing with a… personal… problem, and thus finds himself unable to be in attendance. And, seeing as my potions skills aren't exactly up to par, I hope that you will all find a study period in your Common Rooms or the library amendable."

Around the room the students began to whisper excitedly, gathering up their belongings amongst muted exclamations of joy and some disrespectful conjectures as to Snape's "personal problem". Of all the students, however, none were quite so ecstatic as Draco Malfoy. The words had barely left Dumbledore's mouth before the Slytherin was grabbing his things, pushing roughly past Pansy and very nearly running to the far back corner where Harry sat. In his eagerness, the usually observant boy completely missed what seemed to be a particularly intense staring contest between none other than his target, Harry Potter, and the old Headmaster.

Harry felt a shiver chase down his spine as his eyes met with twinkling blue orbs, yellowed slightly with age. It was as if the kindly old man was staring directly into his soul, picking apart his mind, and Harry felt both cornered and slightly dizzy. The room suddenly seemed very warm, sweat prickling the back of his neck, yet he felt vaguely cold all over. The bustling students around him blurred completely out of focus until all he was aware of was Albus Dumbledore a few feet away, and the near painful hammering of his heart. A sudden wave of anxiety washed sick and heady through Harry, his eyes widening in shock and his chest tightening. When an overly warm, slightly clammy hand grabbed him by the elbow, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Instantly, the strange spell that had held him captive was broken, and the world around him began to return by degrees. Dumbledore smiled knowingly at him before turning and walking away.

"Harry? Are you listening?"

Green eyes darted back to see Draco standing beside him, tugging slightly at his elbow.

"Sorry… what did you say?"

Draco's brow furrowed slightly, and he worried his bottom lip for a moment before continuing.

"I asked if you would come down to my room with me so we can talk. Are you alright?"

Harry suddenly realized that much of the overwhelming anxiety he was feeling wasn't actually his own, but Draco's feelings, pouring through their link at a dizzying rate. He felt instantly guilty for letting Draco's worry ferment for so long. He also desperately wished to avoid the inevitable conversation looming, but knew it was inevitable, as well as dreadfully unfair to put Draco through this stupid mess.

"Umm… alright, sure. I guess."

Harry packed away his school things into his bag, and the two boys walked down to the Slytherin dormitories in silence.

XxX

"Harry, for Merlin's sake, just tell me what happened!"

Draco raked his fingers through his unusually messy hair once more, mussing it up further. Barely ten minutes and he was already to the point of pacing, all nerves and frustration while Harry sat awkwardly on his bed, picking at a loose thread on the luxurious green comforter.

"Harry, please. I'll understand, I promise. I just want to help. I'm just trying to…"

He trailed off with a sigh, sinking dejectedly onto the bed, back against the footboard, head falling back to hit the wood with a dull thud. Even in his head he couldn't find the words to complete that sentence. What _was_ he trying to do? Just trying to make Harry happy? To keep him safe? To love him? To be the best… boyfriend… he could be? It all sounded so empty and useless next to the reality of Harry miserable and withdrawn, sitting dejectedly beside him. He sighed again, but the frustrated exhalation caught in his throat as he was brought back to reality by the warm, soft, unfamiliar sensation of Harry crawling into his lap. Grey eyes flew open to see the dark, messy head nuzzling against his neck, arms sliding around Draco's middle and holding on tightly. Hesitantly, Draco returned the embrace, heart pounding painfully fast as he pulled the smaller boy flush against him, Harry's legs sticking out awkwardly, one on each side.

"I'm sorry... about what happened. I didn't mean to…" Harry looked up, gingerly touching the faded scratch across Draco's cheek before burying his face against the other boy's throat. Harry did not want to talk about this. He wanted to pretend it hadn't happened and go on acting as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. He hated how dramatic everything was, and how weak he felt. What he hated most of all, though, was putting Draco through all these insane highs and lows of emotion. He longed to be able to have a regular, happy sort of relationship with this strange new version of Draco that was holding him. On the other hand, however, loath though he was to admit it, Harry basked in the obvious concern that emanated from the other boy. Concern was putting it mildly, actually. Draco's frustration, fear, and protectiveness were almost overpowering, and they made Harry feel more loved and cared for than he could ever remember being in his entire life. Harry sighed, torn between these conflicting emotions and still wishing this whole mess would just disappear.

"Draco, I know you're trying to help, but... I don't know what you can do. I thought the dreams were finally gone, but this one… it was worse than all the others. So much worse."

Draco worried his lower lip again, letting his teeth sink down hard into the already tender flesh, tightening his hold on Harry almost to the point of pain, rubbing the other boy's back with a slow, firm tenderness. Harry melted into a boneless heap of nerves in his arms.

"It was another one of those dreams? About the ra- …thing that happened?"

A slight nod from Harry was the only response.

"What happened? Did you see who it was?"

Another slight nod. It took Harry several minutes to work up the will to elaborate, and when he did speak his voice sounded worn and exasperated.

"I don't know… it started out like all the other dreams. I couldn't see their faces, and I couldn't tell who they were. But…"

The word hung heavily in the air between them.

"It's stupid, never mind."

"No… no, go on. It's not stupid at all."

Harry snorted.

"Are you sure you weren't supposed to be in Hufflepuff? I didn't think they allowed mother hens in the snake den."

Draco stiffened all over, fists clenching.

"I thought you'd be happy to have a mother for once."

Harry recoiled instantly, withdrawing from Draco's lap and making it half-way to the door before the other boy could even process what had just happened.

"Harry! Wait… I didn't mean…"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The most obvious avoidance tactic ever and he'd fallen straight into it. Draco found it highly disconcerting that Harry could still draw such a reaction from him, and even worse that the dark haired boy would do it purposely.

"Didn't mean what? That I'm an orphan?" Harry spat back bitterly, hand on the door, turning the knob, pulling it open…

Draco's hand slammed the door back shut, grabbing Harry's trembling hands in his own.

"Hey… it's not like I've got one either anymore. A mum, that is. I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that. I didn't mean to."

Harry stared at the floor, slowly nodding his acceptance and letting himself be led back to the bed. Draco lay down, pulling Harry down with him and tugging up the small, green velour coverlet he kept beside his bed for these rare occasions. Harry's tense shoulders relaxed slightly as he tugged the blanket close and lay his head on Draco's chest.

"What did you dream?"

Harry sucked thoughtfully at the corner of the blanket for several minutes, debating whether or not to say anything at all, going vaguely cross-eyed with concentration. Draco was decidedly displeased with the fact that looking at Harry just then made him feel so very fluffy inside, not to mention dreadfully protective. He _was_ turning into a Hufflepuff, Merlin help him.

"When I think about it now," Harry's voice broke through Draco's self-depreciating reverie, "my mind keeps wanting to substitute in real life people for the shadows in my dreams. The people don't make any sense though, it's just impossible…"

"Who?"

A frustrated sort of huff tickled Draco's throat and Harry looked up at him in annoyance.

"People that would never do that to me! They love me, or care about me, or at least don't hate me _that_ much."

Harry rolled away from Draco and onto his back, staring up at the dark green canopy overhead.

"Who?"

Harry wondered if a wise-arsed owl related comment would distract Draco, but he figured if comparing the other boy to a Hufflepuff wasn't going to cause distraction enough then nothing would.

"Snape. And… and Charlie."

Draco held his breath a moment, trying to be patient, but failing miserably.

"Who else? You said five or six."

Draco half sat up with anticipation, knowing who it would be, but rather scared to hear it confirmed. Harry's face looked pale and painful, eyes distant.

"Ron. Hermione."

Draco bit his lip as his mind rushed to connect all the pieces, reaching to brush the hair from the overly bright green eyes.

"Harry, I'm sor-"

"And you."

Draco froze, unable to process this information.

"What?"

Harry pulled at the blanket, wadding it up into a ball and squeezing it hard against his aching chest.

"I dreamed that you were there, too. That you hurt me. You ra.. raped me." Harry's voice cracked and he pushed the blanket aside, standing up to pace or run or _do_ something, only to find his knees were so weak that he slumped right back down onto the bed.

Draco didn't understand. All the others made sense. The strange things he'd seen in real life over the past few months, the people involved all matched those in the nightmare perfectly. But him? He'd never… _NEVER_…

"I'd never!"

Harry raked his fingers through his hair before burying his face in his hands.

"I know, I know…"

"Then why…?"

Harry shook his head weakly.

"I don't know."

Despite his best attempts, Draco found a spark of anger and indignation flaring inside him.

"Merlin, Harry, what am I supposed to do? I've tried so hard- I thought you knew me better than that, I thought you trusted me!"

A strong urge to break something overtook Draco like it hadn't in many months. His fingers clenched and unclenched relentlessly and he suddenly wished they were in Harry's room so he could storm out and slam the door. However, storming out of his own room seemed a little pointless. He opened his mouth to tell Harry to go away when the boy turned to face him, crawling across the bed. His eyes looked so tired just then, filled with unshed tears. Somehow, through the haze of anger, Draco felt strangely proud that Harry had managed the whole encounter without crying. Then Harry took one of Draco's hands in each of his, sitting on his knees directly in front of Draco and meeting the indignant grey eyes with his own.

"Don't you get it, you stupid git? Weren't you listening? That's what made it so terribly. I _do_ trust you. Everyone in the dream; they were all people I've trusted throughout my life in one way or another. In the dream, the more I trusted them, the more they hurt me. I trust you more than anyone at all, and… yeah." He looked away awkwardly, examining their hands for a moment before meeting Draco's eyes once more. "I don't understand it, but I _do_ trust you, so much. Believe me."

And with that Harry leaned in, pressing their lips together shyly. Their noses bumped lightly together an instant before the light kisses turned serious. A barrier in Harry seemed to burst, his hands guiding Draco's around his waist to his back before threading his own about Draco's neck. Grey eyes shot open at the first tentative touch of tongue against his lips, but Harry did not stop there. Draco's shock grew immeasurably as he found himself pushed onto his back, soft, slightly chapped lips parting his own before Harry's tongue slipped boldly into his mouth. Draco tried to pull away, anxious to reassure Harry that he didn't have to do this to prove his trust or to calm him down. The dark haired boy would have none of it, though, hands moving to guide Draco's hands away from where they were pushing at his shoulders to back around his waist.

"What? Don't you trust me…?"

Harry whispered against his lips before sliding his tongue hotly against Draco's and settling his weight more firmly across the other boy's hips. It became suddenly and painfully obvious to Draco that this kiss was not about guilt or fear as he'd first imagined. It wasn't even really about trust… well, it was, but that seemed secondary now. This was Harry's way of saying all the things he wanted to say but couldn't find the right words for. It was Harry's way of expressing those three little words he had sworn never to tell Draco aloud. It was about Harry needing this touch, this reassurance, this slice of simple intimacy. Mostly, though, it was just about two anxious, confused boys that cared for each other very much, sharing a desperate, hungry kiss. At least that's what it became once Draco's tongue was finally coaxed into joining in. Harry made a soft 'mmmm' noise of approval into Draco's mouth, hands clinging to the front of Draco's shirt. Draco pulled him closer, tangling them together, feeling so overwhelmed. The desperation between them was growing by the second, and Draco nearly cried out when he felt Harry's hands unbuttoning his shirt, an answering wave of passion from Harry hitting him so strong it left Draco senseless. Their bond was alive with magic and emotion, buzzing like electricity between them, fueling them on. Harry sunk his teeth softly into Draco's lower lip as he had seen the boy do countless times himself, slipping his fingers along Draco's chest in a soft caress. Draco's hips jerked slightly despite himself, and they both cried out at the contact.

The bell rang.

Harry jerked back instantly, blushing madly, lips glistening and swollen and so very pink, eyes going wide with realization. Their soft sounds of passion only moments before seemed to echo deafeningly around the silent room with their ragged breaths. Draco stared at him, chest heaving, trying to regain himself but shocked by how absolutely stunning the other boy looked just then, amazed and awe struck by this new side of Harry.

Mind racing, Harry couldn't quite process the image of Draco laying flushed and panting beneath him, shirt rumpled and half open, kiss swollen lips smiling up at him. It was so sudden, so fast, he just couldn't believe it. He felt terrible all of a sudden as a thought came to him; had he just forced himself on Draco? Harry began to jerk away, but Draco reached out before he could get too far, grabbing the other boy's hands and squeezing them gently.

"No. Just… don't even think that, you crazy… stupid… beautiful… no."

Draco's brain was still having a hard time functioning and his breaths were still uneven, so instead of elaborating, he merely pulled Harry back down for another kiss, much softer this time, enveloping Harry in a tight hug.

"I love you, you crazy git."

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but laugh. He didn't doubt Draco for a moment.

They were both a little late for their next lesson.

XxX

The next day, Snape returned as mean and nasty as ever, if not a little distracted. Several times throughout lecture he stopped mid sentence, looking around the room as if he'd heard something peculiar, or expected to see something there that wasn't. Each time he recovered quickly, though, continuing on exactly where he'd left off. As they all rushed towards the door after the bell rang, he seemed to decide last minute to make up for his previous absence and preoccupation by assigning three different essays on random potions ingredients, all to be a minimum of five feet long.

Seeming not to want to be outdone, McGonagall, Flitwick and Binns likewise assigned several large projects, all due on various dates over the upcoming three weeks. The new term had officially begun and, as Draco had feared, the numerous assignments left very little time for him and Harry to simply indulge in each other's company. Each night they met in the library to work on their projects, but were so busy and subsequently so tired that they barely got a word in sideways, any further displays of affection put completely on hold. Despite the minimal interaction, however, barely a moment went by when Draco thought about anything unrelated in some way to the beautiful tragedy of a boy drifting along beside him. In the long, lonely hours of sleepless nights, Draco often found himself reliving each kiss they'd shared in vivid detail, willing their work away so they could return to the easy companionship they'd shared during the Christmas holiday. Most of all, though, Draco thought about Harry's terrible nightmare and the implications it carried. Were Snape, Charlie, Ron and Hermione somehow conspiring against Harry? But why? What would that achieve? However, if they weren't, than what was their strange behavior about? Since the start of the new term, Ron and Hermione had alternated between ignoring Harry and gushing over him, once even dragging him forcibly from the library for a game of Wizards Chess upstairs in the Tower. Likewise, Charlie had taken to winking at Draco on the few times they passed in the halls. Snape was the most curious of all, though, alternating between heartless bastard and silent, distracted specter ever since Harry's attack. Plus, as far as Draco could recall, the Potions Master had never missed a lesson, _ever_, until the first day of that term. He was also unaware of anything at all "personal" about the man that could be drastic enough that it couldn't be healed by taking points from Gryffindor. It was all very peculiar, and left Draco feeling edgy and distracted as he tried to piece it all together.

Harry, for his part, was for once very perceptive of Draco's feelings, lying awake for hours at a time pondering the strange emotions coming through their link. However, their time together was so fleeting, and Harry was always so exhausted after staying up all night thinking about the other boy that when they actually saw each other, he always forgot to ask.


	26. The Unexpected Meeting

"Gee, Malfoy, I thought the point of "Snitch" was to _catch_ the snitch, not scare it away," Harry teased, triumphantly circling Draco on his borrowed broom, the snitch held aloft triumphantly.

Draco gave a snort, rolling his eyes but smiling despite himself. There was something about their weekly Saturday morning Snitch games that brought out a shadow of the old rivalry they'd once shared. These were the only times either ever really referred to the other by their surname anymore, or readily exchanged purposefully sharp words. However, it seemed to be a silent understanding that they both enjoyed these playful confrontations as much as they savored the early February chill stinging their faces or their brooms beneath them.

"Yeah right, Potter. The snitch probably just thinks it can make a nest in your hair; it does look rather like a mess of twigs and dirt, after all."

Draco swooped forward, taking advantage of Harry's surprise to grab the snitch right out of his hands and race off down the pitch with it.

"Hey!" Harry turned, racing after Draco, yelling at the retreating figure, "I thought you were going to play by the rules this time!"

Draco chanced a glance over his shoulder at his rapidly approaching boyfriend as he looped around a goal post and dove.

"_Slytherin_, Potter!"

Draco couldn't repress the manic grin spreading across his face as he swerved and dipped, Harry only a few meters behind and gaining by the second. He urged his broom forward, diving into an impressive wonskei feint when suddenly a too-familiar dot of orangey red in the stands caught his peripheral vision and he abruptly stopped in his tracks. Unable to pull out of his own dive in time, Harry slammed into Draco, sending them both hurtling from their brooms to land in a tangled pile in the snow a few feet below.

"Ugh…" Harry groaned, half-heartedly trying to disentangle himself, "God, Draco… what the bloody hell was that about? Trying to kill us both?" After a moment Harry gave up trying to stand up in favor of wrapping an arm around Draco's waist and pressing his forehead into the curve of the other boy's neck.

As soon as he recovered his breath and wits, though, Draco was pulling away, desperately looking around to see what had become of that dot of red.

"Draco? What's wrong?"

Draco's eyes were scanning hastily through the stands, but without any success.

"Harry! Draco! Impressive fall there. Bloody good thing for all this snow, I reckon."

A long shadow fell over them, and Draco very nearly jumped out of his skin. Conversely, Harry looked highly pleased, if not a little embarrassed at being caught in such a compromising position.

"Charlie! I didn't see you there. How are you?"

Getting clumsily to his feet, Harry did the unthinkable. He actually _hugged_ Charlie Weasley. Draco saw red, in more ways than one.

"How've you been? I haven't seen you around for a few weeks."

"I've been just fine, Harry. Been a bit busy tending to some personal stuff, but I've got it all straightened out now," Charlie paused, looking over Harry's shoulder to where Draco was still sprawled in the snow, chest heaving and eyes slitted dangerously. "You alright down there, Draco? You're looking rather flushed." Charlie smirked wickedly down at him, but Harry missed the look entirely as he'd turned to look at Draco as well.

"I'm quite fine, thanks," Draco huffed, clambering to his feet in the shifting snow. "Harry and I were just leaving though, so I'm afraid we'll have to cut this reunion short. Good day, Weasley." And with that he grabbed Harry by the elbow, picked up their brooms and set off towards the castle.

"Draco! What is wrong with you? Let go!" Harry hissed, trying to pry the fingers around his arm loose only to have them tighten painfully. "Draco, stop, you're hurting me…" A quick glance over his shoulder showed Charlie still standing in the middle of the pitch, waving after them. They were almost out of sight behind the bleachers by then, and still Draco seemed deaf to Harry's indignant words.

"Malfoy, stop!" Harry's voice was hard and determined, anger assaulting Draco through their link and causing his fingers to loosen. Harry quickly made sure Charlie couldn't see them before dragging Draco beneath the bleachers.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? We bloody well were _not_ going inside, and I was talking to Charlie! What is wrong with you?"

Draco looked blank.

"But… but Harry, it's Charlie! You don't understand, you can't talk to him, Harry. Don't go near him, ever, do you understand? You just... just can't!"

Green eyes narrowed, sending a chill down Draco's spine. The temperature beneath the bleachers seemed to suddenly plummet, an icy wind whipping up around them. Harry looked a little frightening.

"You think you can boss me around now, Malfoy? Think I'm you're _property_, do you? Just because we've shared a few kisses, that gives you the right to tell me whom I can and can't talk to now?"

The snow around their feet was beginning to stir in the growing wind whistling around them.

"_just a few kisses,"_ Draco paled.

"No! Harry, no, I didn't mean it like that. You don't understand--"

"No, Malfoy. I understand perfectly. You had me fooled for a while, but now I see what's really going on. You're the same selfish bastard you've always been," Harry whispered bitterly, turning in the snow and setting off at a quick pace towards the castle.

"Harry, wait!"

Draco picked up their fallen brooms once more and tried to run after the Gryffindor, only to be hit with an icy gust of wind so strong it nearly sent him toppling backwards.

"Slow down, please. Let me explain!"

Draco cursed himself for sounding so utterly, miserably pathetic, running as fast as he could to keep up but finding his progress ruthlessly impeded by a whirlwind of churned up snow dancing around him, sending him to his knees again and again. By the time he made it through the front door he was soaked through to the bone and shaking violently with cold. This was hardly given a moment of notice though as a fleeting glimpse of black cloak and Gryffindor scarf disappeared up the main staircase.

"Harry!" Draco's repeated petitions for Harry to stop or slow down went unanswered as Draco chased the other boy up flight after flight of stairs. Occasionally he would begin to gain on the retreating figure, but as soon as he was within arm's reach the step he was on would disappear, or an uneven stone would pop up in his path and cause him to stumble. If Draco were the type to cry, he definitely would have. He was so frustrated it was almost painful. If only he could just make Harry listen, if only he could just have a chance to explain himself. Gryffindor Tower was fast approaching, and with each step closer the chances of a speedy resolution diminished. Once inside, he knew Harry would just think and brood until he was so worked up he would never want to see Draco's face again. The Gryffindor portrait hole was only a couple hundred meters away, but suddenly an idea hit. With a burst of determination, Draco closed the last few strides between them, allowing the predicted raised stone to trip him. He tumbled to the floor in a heap, but not before he managed to grab a handful of Harry's cloak and drag him down as well.

"Malfoy, let go! I don't want to hear your excuses, _let go_!"

Harry struggled and squirmed, throwing as much anger through their link as possible only to find this served the singular purpose of egging the deranged Slytherin on further. Not even a swift kick in the shins deterred Draco as he consolidated their brooms into one hand, using the other to half carry, half drag Harry to the empty Transfiguration classroom close by. Once inside, he slammed the door, casting as many locking and silencing spells on it as he could think of. Harry fumed, patting down his pockets only to find he had, yet again, forgotten his wand up in his room. He bit his lower lip anxiously.

"I'm not talking to you," he reiterated, sitting on a desk with his back to the insufferable blonde.

"Fine. Just bloody well listen for once, would you?"

Draco's patience had long since evaporated, but still he refused to give up.

"You can't talk to Charlie, Harry. Not because I'm jealous or because you're my _property_. Merlin, Harry, are you that dense? Think about it, didn't you say yourself that he was in your dream?"

"So were you."

The barb shot back instantly, stinging Draco's pride, as well as something that went much deeper than that. Harry was right, but that didn't change anything. How could he make the thick-headed Gryffindor see?

"Harrryyy," It was so near a whine Draco actually winced to hear his own voice. "It's more than that. Haven't you seen how he's been acting? He's been _smirking_. He just seems to appear out of nowhere all the time. It's like he just knows where you are all the time and shows up there."

Harry turned a bit, glancing at Draco over his shoulder.

"Oh, you mean, sort of like you?"

Draco's entire face twisted into an unreadable, slightly wounded expression.

"Harry! Merlin, I don't know what I'd ever do if something happened to you. I'm just looking out for you and something about Charlie definitely does not feel right."

Harry snorted.

"Let me guess, I'm not allowed to talk to Ron or Hermione either?"

Draco bit his lip.

"Well, yeah. I don't think you should be around them, either."

Harry whirled around, completely knocking over the desk in his haste.

"It's no wonder all of them act so strange around me! I bet you've said something to them, haven't you? Warned them all not to come near me, is that it? Marking your territory. It's all your fault they never want to be around me! It's your fault I'm always alone, that I haven't anyone to talk to except for you. It's all your fault!"

Draco was speechless. He'd never encountered so much exasperation and bitterness from Harry, ever. The sick, heavy emotions roiled in his gut, completely blotting out any other things Harry might possibly be feeling. Draco actually stumbled back a step under the emotional assault.

"Harry, calm down, alright? You know what you're saying isn't true. Weasley and Granger stopped hanging around you before we were even friends, remember? They chose not to visit you in the hospital on their own. Weasley _chose_ to take your place on the Quidditch team because he wanted to, and Granger took _my_ rightful position as potions assistant, if you recall. I haven't even spoken a word to either of them when you haven't been around to hear exactly what I've said."

Harry was looking a little deflated, but the anger still dominated their link. Draco took a deep breath before he continued.

"There's something else you need to know, Harry. About Charlie and Snape. You know they've been acting a little strange, what with them both disappearing at odd times without a real reason. But… two days after I found, the day we fought in the hospital, I ran into Snape and Charlie in the hall talking. There was just something very odd about it, and Charlie was, well… _nice_ to me. And then I saw his arm, and he had this red, bruised bite mark on it down towards his wrist. He said it was a dragon but it was human teeth marks, Harry, I know it. Then on Halloween, the reason I came in that night was because there was this man at the masquerade ball. He was dressed in all white, and he had hair just like Charlie's, but I couldn't see his face because of his mask. He left and I tried to follow him, but it's like... he apparated or something."

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Draco rushed on.

"I know, I know you can't apparate inside Hogwarts. But one minute he was right in front of me, then there would be a loud pop from around a corner he just went around and he'd be gone. Then I'd hear another pop somewhere else. I followed it all the way to the hospital. He was going to go in, but I tried to stop him. He looked at me, and he had these eyes… they were completely black and cold and emotionless. And then he disappeared. When I see Charlie, I get the same feeling that I got when I saw the man in white. I can't explain it, but please, Harry, _please_. Just listen to me on this?"

The bond between them was so utterly devoid of emotion that Draco actually stole a glance at Harry's hand to make sure the ring was still there. It was, but unsurprisingly he didn't find this too reassuring. Harry was just… empty, there was no other word for it.

"Harry?"

The only response was a heavy sigh as Harry's knees seemed to completely give out beneath him, causing the boy to sink to a graceless heap on the floor. Draco approached cautiously.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Tired green eyes blinked up at him.

"Draco, do you want to leave me?" The question took him aback, and the voice was so calm and even that for a moment all Draco could do was stare. Eventually he sat down as well, back resting on a desk about an arms length from where Harry sat.

"No. Never. I love you."

The dark, messy head nodded slightly at this. Silence took a vicious hold of the room for several long, painful minutes while Draco worked up enough courage to ask the only logical question he could think of.

"Do _you_ want to leave _me_?" He tried to sound as calm as Harry had, but couldn't quite keep the waver from his voice.

Harry smiled wryly at the ground, weighted lids keeping his eyes from sight. He sighed offhandedly, seeming to be drifting into another world entirely. When he spoke, Harry's voice sounded rather distant.

"Draco, I-- When my parents were killed, Dumbledore chose to place me in the care of my Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. What Dumbledore didn't know was that they hate magic, more than anything else in the world. Every day they would tell me there was no such thing as magic, but no matter what they said, stranger and more unusual things began to happen. Even the smallest things, like a moved plate or re-grown hair would have them locking me in my cupboard under the stairs. They thought that they could force me to be normal by not letting me have meals, and making me do chores, and occasionally even smacking me around a bit, like I was choosing to do magic just to spite them. The truth is, all I ever wanted was to fit in with everyone else; to have friends and watch cartoons on the tele and go to the roller rink on weekends. I just wanted to be normal, like the other kids I'd see at school."

Draco worried his lower lip as he listened, brow furrowed as he tucked this leaked information away for later questioning.

"When I got my Hogwarts letter, I thought I'd finally get to be 'normal'. I mean, if everyone else was able to make things float and disappear too, I would be just like them. Except… except when I arrived, everyone already knew my name just by looking at my forehead. Everyone seemed to know more about me and my parents and my past than I did. If anything, life has been even more abnormal than when I lived with the Dursleys. And, somewhere between saving the wizarding world, helping my escaped-convict godfather escape, being made to compete in the tri-wizard tournament, losing my godfather… well, you get the idea, I realized I don't even know what normal is anymore. I feel like a walking Muggle soap opera, alternately smiling and crying every five minutes."

Though Draco hadn't a clue what a soap opera was, it didn't sound like a good thing. He reached to take Harry's hand in his, and while the other boy didn't pull away, he didn't so much as twitch his fingers in response either. Draco opened his mouth to interrupt, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

"Look, I guess… well, I'm sorry about earlier. Realistically, I know you wouldn't do those things I said. It's just so much easier though to pretend there's a simple, understandable solution. At least then I would know why these strange things keep happening and I could make them stop. What am I supposed to do when I don't even know what's happening? More than anything, though, it's just easier to pretend like nothing peculiar is going on at all. I just block it out and pretend like it's the most ordinary thing ever for Snape and Charlie to disappear, for Ron and Hermione to just flat out ignore me, for you and I to be… whatever we are."

Draco visibly flinched.

"But then something like this happens, and I have to think about it all over again. I.. I don't want either of us to leave. I don't want it to be like this either though. I hate it so much that you're always having to save me from something, or protect me or put up with my whining and crying. I try so hard… _so bloody hard_… to make it so that you never have to do any of that, but it happens anyway. I just feel so out of control of everything in my life. How I've been lately just isn't even how I really am! I don't know how you can even stand to be around me like this. I'm usually really calm and even-tempered, and I've got a good sense of humor. I can hold a decent conversation, and didn't have to be reminded to eat. Before all this mess, I can't even remember the last time I cried! I--"

"Harry."

Unfocused green eyes blinked at him and Draco squeezed the hand he held reassuringly.

"I know. I've known you for over five years, seen you almost every day. I may not have been able to appreciate it all then, but I know _exactly_ how you 'usually are'. And, this may come as a bit of a surprise, but that's still the same person you are now. It's just a little more complex at the moment."

Harry's nose wrinkled as if he thought this entire statement was utter bollocks. Draco pressed on anyway.

"Harry, I know you say you want to be 'normal', but, well, I like you exactly the way you are; strange as they come."

For a moment Harry looked like he might be offended, but then Draco winked cheekily, sticking his tongue out. They both laughed despite themselves. Harry twined his fingers loosely between Draco's, though he still looked slightly uneasy.

"Do you really mean it?"

Draco snorted, looking out from beneath his snow-wet hair to give Harry a patronizing look.

"I'll give you some slack this time, but only because nearly every last person in your life has lied to you and you've obviously got wretched trust issues. Yes. I do mean what I said. I know that right now you've got a lot going on that you're dealing with. I also know that, seeing as you 'deal with' those problems by ignoring them, you need a bit of looking after," Harry snorted. "And I know that at some point you'll revert to the old heroic, brave, self sufficient Gryffindor prat you use to be," Harry looked indignant. Draco took on a pained, long suffering and incredibly over-dramatic tone. "But, none the less, I will stay devotedly by your side in a truly un-Slytherin display of loyalty and affection. I also know that you will need me to say this several hundred more times before it ever pierces that dense skull of yours."

And, before Harry could say anything sweet and endearing in return that would undoubtedly make Draco feel sickeningly sappy, he pulled the other boy to him into a tight hug. This, of course, was met with much struggling and high pitched squeals on Harry's part, as Draco's clothes were still saturated with icy cold wetness from all the snow that had attacked him during his Harry-chasing expedition.

"Draco! My God, you're soaking wet, and you're absolutely freezing! What happened?"

Harry felt around again for his wand to do a drying charm on Draco, but quickly remembered he'd left the bloody thing in his room.

"You're telling me you didn't send all that snow and wind down on me to keep me from following you?"

Draco sounded a little disbelieving that Harry was as innocent as he appeared.

"No! I didn't do anything at all. I… I don't have my wand," Harry's cheeks were beginning to look a little pink.

"Harry! Merlin, you promised me—"

"I know, I know. I forgot. I'm sor—"

"What would you have done if someone tried something? You'd be completely defenseless!"

Draco just couldn't even believe Harry. He was so mad, he could just—

"I am not defenseless!"

And Harry leaned forward, slipping his hand up Draco's thigh teasingly before grabbing the Slytherin's wand out of his pocket and casting a drying charm on them both. Draco was speechless. Harry smirked playfully. Draco pounced. What ensued was a tickle fight like they hadn't had since Christmas. Screeches of laughter echoed around the classroom as they rolled about on the floor. Quick fingers scrambling at chests and sides and backs as they tumbled into desk legs and overturned a few chairs. Harry had just gotten Draco pinned with his shirt hiked up and was preparing to blow an enormous raspberry on the pale, squirming stomach when a high, shrill voice broke through their private world.

"Oh! What in the name of Merlin is going on here? Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter! This.. this is extremely inappropriate! Classrooms are _not_ the place for.. for…"

Draco cleared his throat. "Umm, tickle fights, Professor. We were having a… tickle fight."

Draco and Harry both looked to be glowing red at this confession, but it did seem to placate Professor McGonagall somewhat.

"Well, in the future any such _tickle fights_ shall have to be held elsewhere. Ten points from each of you for entering a classroom unauthorized and causing such a mess. Now, each of you to your own Common Rooms, if you please. I believe both of your classes have three rolls of parchment due tomorrow on animagi transformation theory if I'm not mistaken."

Harry in particular paled noticeably.

"Yes, professor," they both mumbled, standing and righting the toppled chairs before hurrying out the door.

Harry leaned in a bit as they bent to pick up their brooms and whispered, "Hey, Draco, do you want to come to the tow—"

"Your _own_ Common Rooms, if you please."

McGonagall's shrill voice barked. Once outside, Draco gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek, murmuring "Library, after dinner" before turning and hurrying off towards his the dungeons. It took all of five minutes for him to realize Harry still had his wand. Sneaky bastard.


	27. The Dream Come True

Harry could not shake the terrible nagging feeling that stuck with him for the remainder of the day after McGonagol sent them to their separate Common Rooms. By dinner time the nagging had developed into a steady tugging on his conscience, and as he shared a brief good night kiss with Draco in a shadowed corner outside the library that night, he felt something unmistakable twist sharp inside his chest. Guilt. No matter what Harry did, how stupid he was or how poorly he treated the other boy, Draco was always relentlessly patient. More patient, in fact, than he had ever imagined any Slytherin, and especially Malfoy, of being capable of. Yet despite it all, Harry still seemed to have regular outbursts of one sort or another. As he lay in bed that night, staring up at his canopy, Harry began to feel increasingly unworthy of the love and kindness Draco constantly exuded. Hell, Draco was even sweet and considerate when they were too busy working to talk! Offering Harry his notes, a spare quill, a spell-check charm and any number of other things that Harry himself would never even think of. There was only one way to say it; this new Draco Malfoy was _perfect;_ almost _too_ perfect. Harry didn't know what to do.With a huff he rolled over, only to be met with the sound of crinkling parchment beneath him. Retrieving the abused, vividly pink paper, Harry smoothed it out and read the elegant script printed across it:

_Students of Hogwarts years five and above are hereby cordially invited to a Valentine's Dance. The Dance will be held in the Great Hall on Saturday, the 14th of February with a magnificent feast for all students beginning at 6:00pm. After the feast cards and small packages may be delivered either by hand, or by our special "Angel Owls." ( Remember, to have your Valentine's gifts delivered by these festively colored, angelic messenger owls, you must have your clearly labeled package to the owlery by the 13th) The dance begins immediately after the deliveries at 7:30pm and ends at midnight. In the mood of the season, students are encouraged to invite a date. We look forward to seeing you soon at this marvelous event._

_Yours Cordially,_

_Albus Dumbledore and Staff_

Harry sneered at the pink paper, upon which small white owls bearing red hearts were fluttering around. A Valentine's dance, brilliant, just what he most certainly did not need. Every student from fifth year up would be there; gossiping, dancing, flirting, kissing… wait. Everyone would be there. Everyone. Would be there. As in, down in the Great Hall, and not in, say, the dormitories. Harry did a quick count on his fingers. Six hours during which no one would be in the sixth year boys' dorms. No interruptions, no distractions, no intrusions. Harry's mind was reeling, racing haphazardly from thought to thought almost faster than he could keep track of. Everything had been so hectic since the morning Snape hadn't showed up for Potions that there was hardly a moment to breathe, let alone any chance for romantics. The new term had brought so much work they'd barely had time to sneak longing sideways glances during the late nights spent in the library, and only a handful of stolen kisses in dark corridors. Worst of all, though, and loath though he was to admit it, Harry desperately missed the gentle, quiet moments they had shared over the holiday. Often he found himself longing for the gentle caresses and reassuring touches that they no longer had time for, as well as the long nights spent curled up together under a warm blanket. The realization was clear and sudden in Harry's mind, as were the implications. He didn't just miss Draco, he missed being touched by Draco. Harry actually wanted to be touched, something he'd shied violently away from ever since the horrible stretch of time he'd spent at the mercy of the man he couldn't remember. Even more shocking was the thought the came next: he wanted to touch Draco too. A delicious shiver chased down Harry's spine, scattering any lingering misgivings about the plan forming in his mind. He was nervous, that couldn't be denied, but the thought of an entire night alone with Draco left him feeling overly warm and pleasantly tingly, quelling his anxiety. After all, when would he get another chance like this? A chance not just to make up for over a month of limited contact, but also a way to repay Draco's Christmas scheming. Sneaky Slytherin. Harry fingered the shining silver and green ring, a sly, devious smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he began to form not just a plan, but a Plan.

Down in the dungeons, Draco twitched in his sleep, fingers tightening on a crinkled sheet of bright pink parchment as a hot shiver chased up and down his spine. He gasped, heart pounding faster as the band of metal around his finger grew hot against his skin, the ring humming excitedly as his dreams shifted abruptly to center around a wickedly smirking Harry Potter.

XxX

First thing Monday morning, Draco wasted no time in dragging Harry into a hidden niche just off the staircase that lead down to the Potions classroom.

"Draco? Is everything alright?"

Instantly their hands met, fingers twining as Harry looked up at him with inquisitive eyes. Draco couldn't help himself, leaning in for an anxious, hurried kiss, lips brushing in a feathery touch that left them both breathless and not at all satisfied. Draco tried to give a rather seductive smirk, but Harry could plainly see he was very nervous.

"Umm… Harry? I was just thinking… wondering if maybe you'd like to, maybe you know, maybe go to the Valentine's Dance with me?"

If the heat suffusing his cheeks was any measure, Harry guessed he was probably blushing a violent red. The connotation of those jumbled, stuttered words was inconceivable, unexpected and utterly mind-blowing. If he and Draco were to go to the dance together, everyone would know the real nature of their relationship. And, if Draco was asking him to the dance, that meant Draco didn't mind everyone knowing they were together. Even though Draco had taken several occasions to make clear how he felt about Harry, the knowledge that he was actually willing to make those feelings public was… incredible. The very idea filled Harry with a warmth like he'd never know, and it took every ounce of his willpower to keep a wild grin from breaking across his face. He almost wished he could say 'yes'. After all, Draco's proposal was appealing, but he did still have a Plan to stick to.

"No thank you, Draco. I've already got other plans."

Harry had promised himself the night before that no matter what, he couldn't even give the other boy a hint of what he had in store for Valentine's Day. However, his resolve very nearly broke as he watched the grey eyes watching him go very large with surprise. Harry bit his lip in a last desperate attempt to keep a straight face.

"Oh. Umm… do I have plans too?"

The grin Harry had been trying so desperately to hide finally broke loose, and it spread brightly across his entire face before he could muster any hope of stifling it. In way of an answer, he leaned in and placed a soft, teasing kiss on Draco's lips before turning and running off down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Come on! Before we're late for Potions again!"

Every day for the 12 days that followed, Draco asked Harry what this Valentine's Day plan was, and whether or not it involved him. Each time Harry couldn't help but grin, and would kiss Draco or squeeze the other boy's hand affectionately before either walking away to lessons, or changing the subject.

Draco had many reoccurring dreams over the course of the days in question, all of which coincided with a pleasantly warm tingle originating in his chest, and centered around a coyly smiling Harry Potter. These dreams also had a tendency to involve black satin sheets and far less clothing than could be deemed decent. Draco, despite the winter weather, subsequently took a lot of very long, cold showers in the two weeks leading up to Valentine's Day.

XxX

The 14th of February dawned cold and cloudy as ever. Overhead, ominous, precipitation laden clouds darkened the sky in sharp counterpoint to the festivities already taking place within Hogwarts. Harry woke early, feeling excited and very pleased with himself, a pleasant kind of nervousness fluttering in his stomach. As he showered and dressed, he couldn't help but think he should feel more anxious than he did about what he had planned for that night. However, as much as his rational mind nagged at him, Harry could not muster up a single thread of anxiety as he set off at a quick walk down to the dungeons. He'd had two weeks to think through his decision, tweaking his plan to perfection until it had constantly occupied his thoughts for days. He also found himself forming a habit of toying with his TenderHeart ring, twisting and fingering it as he lay awake late at night, waiting for this day to come. He could not recall ever feeling so light and giddy, as if at any moment he might break into ridiculous fits of giggles just at the mere thought of what the night would bring. Thus it was a pleasantly fluffy Harry Potter that knocked on the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room at roughly ten that morning.

As he waited for someone to open the portrait, Harry reached into his robes and drew out a crisp, white envelope. It was smallish in size, smooth but for one wrinkled corner, with the name Draco Malfoy written in the neatest, most elegant green cursive he could manage. After several long minutes Harry knocked again, frowning and trying to fix the wonky corner on the envelope as he continued to wait. Where was everyone? Harry was just about to use the password and let himself in when the portrait squeaked open a crack and one large brown eye peered out, widening then narrowing dangerously.

"Umm, hello. I was wondering if you could give this envelope to Draco Mal-… ah!"

Harry very nearly dropped the envelope in question as the portrait swung open, hitting him square in the face and knocking him to the ground. Before he could even right himself, Harry found he was being forcibly pulled up by the front of his robes and roughly pinned to the wall by a rather blurry Pansy Parkinson.

"Potter. What are you doing here?" She spat venomously, lip curled in disdain. Nonetheless she reached out and straightened his skewed glasses before continuing.

"I.. I wanted to give this message to Draco. For a.. umm… study session tonight?"

Pansy actually growled.

"Now, look here. The rest of Slytherin, and the entire school for that matter, may be blind to what is going on here, but I am not. Study session my arse. I see the way Draco looks at you, the way his entire face lights up when you so much as enter the room. I've seen how he'll skulk around in dark corners and hidden niches waiting for you to walk by. And, even though no one else seems able to, and I'm not quite sure what they're about, I can see these."

Here Pansy grabbed Harry's hand, yanking it up to eyelevel and indicating the ring.

"You mean, no one else can see our rings?"

Pansy gave him a strange look, but nodded anyway.

"Oh. That certainly explains a lot."

"Quiet, I'm not done," Pansy snapped. "The point is, I can see what's happened. He's fallen in love with you." She paused. "And, seeing as how you only look mildly surprised that I said that, I'm wagering he's told you so himself."

Harry nodded dumbly.

"I knew it."

Pansy looked as if she might bite at any moment. Harry was starting to feel a little anxious and dizzy, pinned against the wall as he was. He tried to worm away from her suffocating grasp, but she was nowhere near finished with him.

"Do you love him?"

Harry's eyes went huge. "What?"

"You heard me. Do you love him?"

"No!"

Harry fidgeted, painfully uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"I mean, I haven't told… I thought maybe…"

Pansy pulled him forward a bit before slamming him back against the wall. Harry winced.

"Yes. Fine, I love him," Harry hissed. "Don't say anything though, I haven't told him yet. I don't know how. I thought maybe tonight…"

Pansy's grip loosened and he pulled away, looking down at the now very-wrinkled envelope.

"You came to invite him to the dance."

Harry shook his head, turning to meet her eyes.

"No. I came to invite him to spend the evening with me in my dormitory. Everyone else in my year is going to the dance, and I thought it might be nice to spend the evening together." The sudden look of understanding in her eyes took him aback. She smiled, and he found the sight altogether very terrifying.

"You're real, then?"

Harry didn't quite understand this question, but nodded anyway, figuring that since there wasn't anything not-real about him, whatever she meant must be true. Pansy hugged him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

"Thank Merlin. I didn't know what I would do if you weren't. I can see it in his eyes, he would be crushed, I don't think I'd ever be able to set him right again. Oh Potter, I-"

"Harry. What's going on here?"

Harry pushed Pansy away, spinning to look straight into the red, furious, wind-stung face of Draco Malfoy.

"Draco! I came down to-"

"To snog Parkinson, apparently. I suppose you forgot the day."

Draco's voice was sharp and icy, and Harry opened his mouth to protest then stopped to think about what day it was. Valentine's Day? Wait… Oh no…

"Saturday."

"Yes! And I've been out on the pitch waiting for you all bloody morning in the wind and the snow while you've been down here snogging my best friend in the hallway."

The usually warm, expressive grey eyes were narrowed to slits, Draco's voice a terrifyingly low, even growl.

"Draco! We weren't! How could you even think-"

"I'm not blind. I didn't have to think to see what was happening here. Congratulations, Potter. I'm very happy for you, really."

"Draco, wait! I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't!" Harry reached out, grabbing Draco's cold, dripping sleeve, only to have the seething Slytherin jerk away.

"Don't touch me. Leave me alone."

Draco turned and stormed into the Common Room, slamming the portrait behind him just as Harry's knees gave out beneath him and he sunk to the floor. Harry felt as if he had literally been deflated. Anger, hurt and betrayal pummeled him through the link they shared, ripping him forcibly from the cloud he'd been floating on all morning. His chest hurt, eyes stinging with unshed tears of confusion, hurt and disappointment. He tried to send calming, reassuring thoughts to the other boy, but it was almost as if a door slammed in the link, as well, blocking out all of the sensations coming through and sending his own rebounding back. For a moment Harry feared that Draco had removed the ring, but when he touched his own it sent a reassuring shiver through him, letting him know the link wasn't dead at least. It wasn't until he felt a touch on his arm that he even remembered Pansy was still there.

"Potter? What just happened?"

Harry sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him as Pansy sat down.

"This is my fault. I was so excited about Valentine's Day and my Plan, I completely forgot we were supposed to practice down on the pitch-"

"In this weather?"

"In all weather. It's an unspoken agreement, and I completely forgot."

"And just now?"

Harry touched the ring again, twisting it uncertainly.

"These rings let us know what the other person is feeling. He's mad, and hurting so much. I've never felt him that strong before. I tried to calm him down through the link, but it's like… he blocked me out. I didn't know we could do that. Now what am I going to do? He won't even listen…" Harry stared down at the crumpled envelope in his hands, vision swimming.

"Don't worry… Harry…" Harry looked up to see Pansy staring determinedly at the portrait. "I've got a Plan."

XxX

Draco spent the entire day buried under the covers in his bed. At first, he tried to lock everyone out of the room, but eventually his roommates managed to break through the pathetic wards he'd put up and he'd been forced to settle for closed curtains and a silencing charm instead. He didn't really care, though, he just wanted to be alone. All day he lay there, staring blindly at his canopy as one thought ran continuously through his mind. Harry's "other plans" for Valentine's Day did not include him. They did, however, seem to include Pansy Parkinson. What was worst of all, though, was that Draco had come to the conclusion that Harry had removed his ring. Whenever he concentrated on the space in his chest that normally held Harry's emotions, all he found was an enormous void that throbbed every so often. Draco tried very hard not to think about his boyfriend and his "best friend" snogging desperately just down the hall, as he was sure they were, but somehow the image replayed itself over and over again anyway. Draco also did not think about the fact that his cheeks were wet and his eyes were beginning to sting.

Draco did not so much as show his face again until just before the Valentine's feast was due to begin. And, even then, he was not exactly pleased to do so.

"Draco, come on!" Blaise, completely unaware of the true nature of the problem, was not sympathetic whatsoever. "If you won't go to the dance, at least come down to dinner! You've been closed in there all day, you can't tell me you're not hungry."

Draco didn't argue this fact. He was hungry.

"Leave me alone, I'm not going."

"Yes you are!" Blaise forcibly hauled Draco from his bed, performing a cleansing charm and shoving Draco towards the closet. "Get dressed, you're coming down whether you like it or not. Just because you don't have a date doesn't give you an excuse to mope around like this. Just come down to dinner. Who knows, you may even see a pretty girl you like."

Draco snorted at Zabini's very off-target attempt at being reassuring, but got changed nonetheless and followed his roommates down to dinner. After all, as miserable as he felt, he was hungry.

It only took Draco five minutes to regret his decision to leave his room. Everywhere he looked there were happy couples snogging like mad, strings of glowing red hearts adorned the halls, and everyone seemed to be smiling. More or less, love seemed to be pretty heavy in the air. And that was before he even entered the Great Hall. He had to try very hard not to gag.

The Great Hall looked as if it had been dipped in candy floss; everything seemed to be pink and fluffy. Hearts and fairies and streamers filled the room, almost completely obstructing the charmed ceiling overhead. The food, while as delicious as ever, was either pink, red, heart shaped or chocolate. And, at precisely seven o'clock, the walls seemed to literally shake as hundreds upon hundreds of fluffy pink and white Angel Owls poured in through the high window, littering the room instantly with downy soft feathers, cards and packages. All around him people were receiving and exchanging gifts and kisses. The only card Draco received was the small, red heart an apologetic pink owl brought back to him when Harry refused to accept it. Sadly he unfolded the scrap of paper he had so proudly cut out with a stolen pair of Muggle scissors, reading his own elegant silver scrawl, "I love you".

"I love you too…"

Draco whispered to the paper, letting it flutter to the ground as he stood and headed silently towards the exit. His bowed head and watery eyes ensured he did not see Pansy staring intently after him, nor did he notice the fact that Harry Potter was not in the Great Hall at all.

The long walk back to the dungeons was a lonely, painful affair for Draco. In every portrait he passed, the occupants were celebrating noisily with song and dance and large tankards and glasses of various beverages. Draco fervently hoped they all had terrible hangovers come morning. Hangovers and alcohol poisoning, he amended after having to wait nearly ten minutes for the drunken old alchemist that guarded the Slytherin portrait hole to come stumbling back and let him in. Draco cursed all the way up to his room. He cursed Valentine's Day, and love, and school dances and hormones. He cursed drunk portraits and starry-eyed teenagers and best friends. Most of all, though, he cursed Harry Potter. Potter who was cruel and heartless, who had strung him along for months and played him as the fool. Potter who had left him for Pansy Parkinson and broken his heart. Potter who… was lying on his bed?

Draco stood frozen in the doorway to his room, unable to move or think or even breathe. There, lying on his bed, was none other than Harry Potter himself, clad only in a pair of faded, too-big school trousers, lounging on black sheets. Black satin sheets. Flashes of dream-memories flooded Draco's mind with images that had haunted him for two weeks, making him shift uncomfortably where he stood. His skin felt warm, hot, even, and he longed for nothing more than to pin Harry down as he had in those dreams, kissing and touching until Harry was flushed and panting and helpless beneath him. Draco had to physically shake himself, forcing himself to recall what Harry had done.

"What are you doing here, Potter? Pansy's room is down the hall, I'm sure she'll be expecting you."

Harry's jaw tensed slightly at that, but he said nothing as he slid from the sheets in a fluid, feline motion and padded forward on bare feet, grabbing the front of Draco's shirt and tugging him down to eye level before crushing their mouths together desperately. Harry's tongue was hot and insistent, probing Draco's lips until he had no choice but to part them. The kiss was brief, perhaps due to his own lack of participation, but as short and one-sided as it was, it left Draco feeling weak-kneed and dizzy.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Draco." Harry's lips were soft, too soft, warm and damp as they mumbled against his own, and Draco pulled away as if burned.

"What are you playing at? This isn't a game, Potter. You're obviously through with me; between kissing Pansy and taking off the ring you made that perfectly clear."

Harry's brow furrowed.

"What are you on about? For the last time, I **did not** kiss Pansy. And I most certainly did not take off my ring. You're the one who blocked the link."

Draco's eyes widened as Harry raised his hand and wiggled his fingers, the TenderHeart ring clearly still on.

"But… but what about Pansy? I saw you!"

"Draco," Harry reached out, cupping Draco's face in his hand, searching frantic grey eyes with his own. "What you saw was Pansy hugging me. I came down to your Common Room to invite you to a lovely little evening up in the Tower, but Pansy was very adamant about asking me some questions first. Very nearly killed me with the portrait."

Harry brushed the hair off his forehead to reveal a particularly nasty looking bruise directly over his scar, the livid contusion making the usually pale line of a lightening bolt look dark and angry. Draco's jaw dropped.

"Yeah. Apparently she's figured out our little secret and was intent on making sure I wasn't out to break your heart. By the way, I didn't know our rings had glamour spells on them to make them invisible, but apparently she can see them anyway."

Draco's jaw dropped even further.

"So, you mean to say she hugged you because…"

Harry smiled, gently stroking a few stray pieces of hair from Draco's eyes.

"Because she approved of me, and she was happy for us."

Draco didn't think he'd ever felt like more of an arse than he did just then.

"You mean… Oh Merlin, Harry… I… I'm so sorry. I can't believe I… I should never have… How could I… Oh Merlin, Harry, I love you."

Harry could barely breathe for how tight Draco's arms were around him, crushing him instantly in a bone-shattering embrace that was just too perfect for Harry to ever consider complaining. He had never felt more relieved in his life. Draco's words and actions had obviously been stupid, thoughtless and childish, not to mention that they had terrified him beyond all reason. However, it showed that as perfect and wonderful and patient as this new Draco usually was, that he was still human, and still more than capable of being a complete and utter git. Harry whole-heartedly returned the embrace, tilting his head back and catching Draco's lips with his own.

The kiss began slow and tender and innocent, lips meeting over and over, clinging with heat as they stood swaying in each other's arms. Harry's tongue was quick to factor into the mix, though, caressing and probing at Draco's lips in a way that had grey eyes flying open with shock, near painful shivers racking his body. Draco's lips parted hesitantly under the onslaught, and for several long minutes he fought with himself, enduring the most tender, torrid kiss he had ever fallen prey to before he felt the inevitable happen. With a near-painful gasp for air, Draco pulled away, stumbling back a few steps. He was blushing; without even looking he knew his face would be flushed pink and splotchy, just as he knew his trousers would be tented if he dared to look down. He didn't dare, for fear of drawing attention to his problem, praying he'd pulled away before his straining erection became obvious to Harry. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.

"Harry-" To Draco's utter humiliation, his voice actually broke. He coughed and swallowed again, trying to ease his straining vocal cords. "Do you want to go up to the dance? I thought, you know, it is Valentine's Day, and the Hall did look rather nice…"

Harry's answering smirk had Draco barely suppressing a moan, too dumbstruck to resist as Harry grabbed him by the hand, dragging him towards the bed.

"No thank you, Draco," Harry's voice was low and rough like he'd never head it before as he slipped back onto the satiny sheets, pulling Draco closer still. "If you recall, I already told you I have… other plans."

Draco stared glassy-eyed as Harry's grasp on his wrist guided his hand to that beautiful, pale throat, making a long, sweeping caress down Harry's chest and stomach, stopping at his hip.

"Harry!" Draco quickly pulled his hand away, eyes shocked and uncomprehending. "What are you doing?"

Harry grabbed his hand again, tugging Draco to lay down on the bed alongside him before giving that hand a gentle kiss. "I thought what I was doing was rather obvious." Harry's tongue darted out, licking teasingly along the palm of Draco's hand, gazing through the fingers and into grey eyes. "I'm spending Valentine's Day with my boyfriend."

Harry's tongue flicked teasingly against the tip of Draco's index finger, licking tentatively before drawing the digit into his mouth and sucking. Draco's gasp was loud and harsh, and he pulled away so abruptly he actually tumbled off the bed to land on the floor with a dull thud.

"Harry… you don't.. don't have to do this if you don't want to. Just because it's Valentine's Day, or because we had a fight-"

"Draco." Harry's smiling face was peeking over the side of the bed, beautiful and calm and determined. "Relax. It's okay. I'm not going to break."

Harry leaned further over the edge of the bed, pressing a lingering kiss to Draco's sweaty forehead before helping him back up onto the bed. Draco stared at him for several long moments, hand lingering in the air, afraid to touch.

"Draco, it's alright. I.. I trust you." Harry leaned in, rubbing his face against Draco's hand, still poised mid-air. It wasn't quite what he'd intended to say, but it was close enough. Harry turned his face, kissing Draco's ring, tongue darting out to slip across the metal in a warm caress that had them both shivering. All around them the bond they shared seemed to flair back to life, engulfing the entire room with heat.

"I love you too, Harry."

Harry's cheeks burned painfully, but he quickly buried his embarrassment against Draco's mouth, resuming the kiss he'd started earlier. This time, though, Draco did not freeze up, or pull away; he kissed back fervently, his restraint quickly dissolving under Harry's teasing tongue. With each pass of lips and nip of teeth, the iron hold Draco had kept on himself over the previous three months loosened just a little bit more, until with a strangled groan Draco grabbed Harry round the waist. Next thing he knew, Harry found himself on his back, pressed into the satin sheets by Draco's warm weight on top of him, a trail of hungry, open-mouthed kisses making its way down his throat.

"Wait… wait.." Harry was panting and squirming, but the words stopped Draco nonetheless.

"Are you alright? Was that too much?"

"I'm okay, but there seems to be a bit of a problem," Harry smiled, slipping off his glasses and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. "You see," he whispered, hands sliding up around Draco's middle, trailing down his back. "This is supposed to be my Valentine's Day Plan," Draco bit his lip, fingers clenching as Harry's legs wrapped around his waist, tightening. "And, seeing as how it's my plan, I think I had better be on top."

In one swift movement Harry rolled them over, ending up straddled low across Draco's hips.

"Harry…" Draco groaned, head thrown back as Harry nipped his throat, hands sliding up under Draco's shirt as he started to move his hips in slow, steady circles, their erections rubbing together where their hips met. And stopped. Draco's eyes shot open, worried perhaps the other boy had changed his mind. What he saw, though, simultaneously ripped open his heart and had desire throbbing hot and desperate in his blood. Harry's eyes were wide, a look of surprise and wonder on his face as he slowly, carefully moved his hips again. Draco tried not to whimper, pulling Harry in for a slow, sensual kiss. He could hardly breathe, crushed beneath the beauty of Harry's overwhelming innocence, the knowledge that he was the only person that Harry had ever chosen to do this with. "I love you," he whispered into the kiss, hands sliding down to grasp Harry's hips, guiding him in a careful rhythm.

"Draco!" Harry's voice broke, muffled as he buried his face against the other boy's throat, nails leaving deep, red crescent marks where they dug into Draco's shoulders. A careful arch of his hips had Harry bucking against him, more breathless and beautiful, warm and solid than any dream had ever been. Harry's hips took up a frantic pace, desperately grinding down into Draco's upwards thrusts and Draco was too close, too caught up to bother trying to slow them down.

Harry was shaking, heat and friction building uncontrollably, more intense than he had ever imagined possible. He felt dizzy with passion, the muscles in his arms and stomach and thighs trembling with tension and exertion.

"Draco… Draco please…"

Soft, warm hands slid down his back, cupping his arse through his trousers and squeezing, the sweet, torturous pressure pushed to unbearable. Harry had a moment of real fear as he felt Draco's hands on him, but then everything seemed to explode. In an instant the tension in his muscles seemed to reach a breaking point, contracting over and over as pleasure swallowed him. Harry hadn't even realized their hands had somehow intertwined until he felt the distinctive brush of metal on metal, a hot, thrumming aftershock racking his chest. Harry felt weak and boneless, gasping open-mouthed for air. He tried to push himself off to the side of the bed, but found his arms were trembling so bad he could do little more than collapse directly on top of Draco.

Draco's arms snaked limply around him, stroking his hair and back.

"Oh Merlin, Harry…" Draco gasped, pressing a clumsy kiss to the sweaty mess of black hair resting against his cheek before letting his head fall back into the pillows. There was so much he wanted to say, or to ask, but his heart was pounding so heavily in his chest it almost hurt, and he could hardly manage to catch his breath.

"Draco.. I..I.. I think I…" Harry mumbled, breathless and exhausted.

"I know, Harry. It's alright, I know." But Harry was already drifting off to sleep. Though his rational mind thought better of it, Draco fumbled for his wand, drawing up a blanket and closing the curtains around his bed. While he knew the morning would require an explanation to his roommates, as well as a shower and a few cleansing charms, the warmth of Harry curled up, content and sleeping on his chest was too perfect to sacrifice for anything.


	28. The Rematch

Harry was floating somewhere between dreaming and consciousness, reality blurred around the edges. He was aware of feeling warm all over, a sweet, growing ball of contentment throbbing deep in his chest. Through closed eyes he could tell it was dark, though naturally or artificially, he couldn't be sure. Rolling over in his sleep, Harry became slowly more aware of the fact that his trousers were warm and sticky in a really unpleasant sort of way. He also, however, became more conscious of the fact that there were arms wrapped around him, tightening gently as soft lips brushed his face over and over, scattering delicate, open-mouthed butterfly kisses across his skin. Without even giving it thought, Harry knew who it was there beside him. If possible, he relaxed even further.

"Mmmm…" Harry smiled, nuzzling up against whatever part of Draco was in front of his face. Felt like… a throat, maybe? Yes, there was a chin. Tucking his head in, Harry nosed around until he found an ear, licking and snuffling sleepy, eyes still closed. _Oh please let this be real, _Harry silently prayed. Draco's hands slid carefully up the hem of his shirt, rubbing little circles into his back. _Yes. I could stay like this forever…_ Harry sighed, giggling as Draco's fingers brushed a ticklish spot just above his hip.

"Draco? Was that you?" A voice broke through the pleasant haze Harry had been enjoying, jarring him abruptly awake. Frantically, Harry's blurry eyes searched the curtained-off darkness, meeting Draco's own nervous gaze. Draco motioned for him to stay quiet.

"Umm… yeah." Draco cringed as his voice cracked a little from the combination of lingering sleep and nerves. On the other side of the curtains, Blaise was looking utterly befuddled.

"You're telling me you just _giggled_?" Harry looked rather put out.

"I was having a good dream, and you've just ruined it, thank you very much." Draco tried to put a dangerous edge on his voice. There was a long moment of silence during which he and Harry both were pretty sure it had worked. And then, "Draco… since when have you worn glasses?"

Harry inwardly groaned; how could he have been so stupid?

"And why are there a pair of grubby old trainers over here?"

Harry and Draco could only stare at each other, uncertain what to do.

"Draco! This isn't your wand here, either! You've got someone else in there, don't you?"

"No! Go away, Blaise!"

"You got a shag last night, didn't you, Draco? I knew it! Didn't I tell you if you went down to the dance-"

The curtains were unceremoniously ripped back, Blaise's face going for smug and self-satisfied to absolutely stunned instantaneously.

"_POTTER_?"

Draco sat up, putting himself more obviously between the two, unsure of what might happen. "Blaise, be quiet," he hissed, chancing a look over his shoulder to see Harry's eyes huge and panicky. _Shit._

"But Draco!" Another glare had the desired effect of Blaise lowering his voice. "It's _Harry Potter_. He's… he's…" A pause, and a sickening flicker as realization hit. "He's the reason you were so bloody depressed yesterday, isn't he?" Draco tensed. "Blaise-" "You're with Potter, aren't you? I can tell; look! You've still got all your clothes on and everything. How did I miss this? The way you've been sneaking around-"

Relieved as he was that Blaise seemed unlikely to start throwing hexes anytime soon, Draco was growing exponentially aware of both Harry's abject humiliation, and his own uncomfortable trouser situation.

"Blaise. Not now, alright? Just… go away?"

Harry's tension abated infinitesimally when the curtains around Blaise's bed were finally drawn shut. Any hopes Draco had had of picking up where they'd left off were instantly dashed, though, as Harry quickly tumbled out of bed and snatched his glasses from where Blaise had set them on the nightstand, simultaneously toeing on his trainers. A quick glance at the clock told Draco it was barely past six in the morning, but Harry was already pulling on the rumpled shirt and robes he'd stashed under Draco's bed the night before. With a sigh of defeat, Draco rolled out of bed as well, cringing at the feel of his boxers unpeeling themselves from his skin, wincing as a few hairs were pulled. Silently, he walked Harry down to the portrait hole, thankful that the early hour at least meant that the Common Room was empty and there would be no further incidents. Just outside the portrait, Draco only barely managed to steal a brief kiss before Harry tried to dart away.

"You alright?" Draco caught Harry's wrist, tugging him back. Harry's face was unreadable, just like his emotions.

"Yeah… I just…" Harry trailed off. Draco resignedly finished the sentence.

"Didn't want anyone to know. I understand."

"No! No, it's not that. I just don't want… _everyone_… to know." Draco felt a little relieved at that, even more so when his mind made the connection.

"Weasley and Granger?" Harry nodded.

"I also didn't want _that_ to be how people found out." Draco couldn't help but laugh as he remembered the look on Blaise's face.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure he keeps it quiet. He's really not too bad. A little blunt, but surprisingly compassionate, for a Slytherin." It was Harry's turn to laugh.

"Oh, you mean like you?"

Draco gave a squawk of mock-outrage, but pulled Harry in for another kiss anyway.

"I think 'compassionate' is a little mild, don't you?" Draco mumbled into Harry's mouth, arms sliding around to pull the dark haired boy closer.

"Mmm… I suppose. You've certainly mastered the 'passionate' part, at any rate," Harry pulled back slightly, their noses bumping. "But if word ever got out that you're a sweet, sappy romantic at heart, I'm afraid your 'Evil Bouncing Ferret' license would be revoked."

They both laughed, but before Draco could lean in for another kiss, Harry pulled back a bit, face suddenly serious.

"Draco… about last night…"

Draco visibly cringed. Oh no… "Harry-"

"No, no listen… I… I really enjoyed it. I'd like it if maybe we could, you know… do it again some time?"

Draco was floored. "Really? Are… are you sure?" Harry laughed, half amused and half exasperated.

"Draco! Of course I'm sure. In case you've forgotten, I'm a teenaged boy as well. You aren't the only one with hormones."

"I just meant-" But Draco didn't get a chance to clarify what he meant, as Harry pulled him down for a crushing kiss, hot and intense, with too much tongue involved for Draco to have any hope of arguing.

"I'm not going to break…" the huskily whispered words had Draco groaning, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pinning him against the wall, banging the dark head against the stones in the process.

"Ow!" Harry hissed, and though he tried to continue the kiss, Draco pulled back, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I thought you said you weren't going to break?" He half-teased, tenderly running his hand along the back of Harry's abused head, both of them wincing at the tender lump already forming.

"Alright, let me amend that," Harry pulled the probing fingers away, tugging Draco in for a final kiss. "I won't break, _unless_ you bang my head against the wall in a heated moment of lust."

Draco tried to look suitably outraged as Harry began to walk away, but he couldn't quite mask the tension that had been gnawing at his gut. He reached out again, grabbing a confused Harry by the wrist once more and pulling him back in.

"Are _you_ alright?" Harry looked thoroughly perplexed.

"Harry… I… yesterday morning…" he paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "You remember how Weasley made a stink about me cheating during the Gryffindor/Slytherin match?"

Harry nodded, uncertain as to where this was going,

"Well, apparently he petitioned for a Quidditch rematch, and Hooch just approved it yesterday. Well, it's going to be this weekend, er, next- er, this coming weekend, and I know you don't fancy going to Quidditch matches much these days, but I was just wondering if maybe you want to… um… maybe…" Draco trailed off, feeling incredibly foolish asking Harry to the game like some starry-eyed, love-crossed teenager when he knew Harry hated-…"I'd love to." …- Quidditch matches?

"What? Really?" Draco's mind was reeling, and while he was certain he was grinning manically, he couldn't really find the will to stop himself.

"Yes. Really." Harry looked so confident and relaxed just then that if it weren't for the nagging little worry that had taken up constant residence in the back of his mind, Draco found he could have easily forgotten that Harry agreeing to go to a Quidditch game was _not_ a normal occurrence.

"Are you sure? I mean, you don't-" with a sigh, Harry implemented his newly gained skill of kissing Draco senseless in order to shut him up. Draco did not argue, though, as he felt that the kiss was answer enough at that point.

"Brilliant…" Draco whispered as they broke apart, lips trailing absently down Harry's chin, kissing a path over to his ear. "You know you're more than welcome to the victory party." Harry snorted, but the sound broke off abruptly and a shiver took its place as Draco's tongue darted along sensitive skin, nipping gently. "Besides, since apparently Blaise and Pansy are alright with us, I doubt anyone would make a fuss if you were to spend the night. To help celebrate, you know." Harry shoved him lightly in the chest.

"I'll be cheering for you and Ron both, I'll have you know. Even though he's been a git, he's still my friend." Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Harry kissed him before he even got a chance to start ranting that time. "Though at any rate, I would be more than happy to attend any victory celebrations, private or otherwise." A quick kiss was placed on the tip of Draco's nose, and then Harry was gone, already halfway down the hall before Draco was aware of it.

"Library after dinner?" He called after the retreating figure, wishing more than ever that Blaise had not interrupted them with his enormous ego and even bigger mouth.

"Always!" Was Harry's only reply, but Draco couldn't help reading a bit more into it than just an agreement to study.

XxX

Harry was only vaguely aware of his surroundings as he embarked on the long walk up to Gryffindor Tower. It seemed to him almost as if his body was on auto-pilot, feet moving inexorably towards his dormitory while his mind was still down in the dungeons, tucked safe and warm beneath the covers alongside Draco Malfoy. _Mmm… Draco_. Harry's mind was all too happy to continue on where Blaise had interrupted, a shiver chasing down his spine and warming him all over as imaginary hands continued the trepid path Draco's had begun. Warm, tender kisses and careful touches filled Harry's mind, leaving him trembling, breathless, and equally surprised and relieved to find he was already in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Once inside, Harry all but ran up the stairs to his dormitory, sneaking inside and walking down towards the bathroom, intent on a very long, luxuriously warm shower. In his haste, he very nearly tripped as his feet got tangled in fabric, kicking at the discarded garment and glaring at it in annoyance. And he froze. There were dress robes on the floor. _Girl's_ dress robes. Harry's eyes followed along the trail of discarded clothing; one stocking, another, a garter belt, and a bra, as well as boy's dress robes, trousers, shirt, shoes and shorts. Each sequential item had Harry's jaw dropping further, his lip curling slightly with disgust at the wadded up pair of lacy knickers that had barely managed to make it past the closed curtains of the bed. Wait. Harry counted the beds. That was _his_ bed. Harry's eyes darted frantically around the room. The curtains on all the other beds were open enough that he could see they were all occupied by their one, rightful occupant. Except for Ron's bed. Which was empty. Harry's left eye twitched, his lip curling even further as he approached. With a deep breath, he squeezed his eyes almost completely shut, afraid of what he might see but needing to know. He threw back the curtains, peeking with one-eye before they both flew open, his jaw dropping and nose wrinkling.

"Eww! Oh God, _stop! _Stop, what are you _doing!_"

Ron blinked at him. Hermione blinked at him. There was no move made to draw up the discarded covers. Harry covered his eyes, but not before he got a glimpse of his favorite, plush red blanket, defiled beyond hope of salvaging.

"Umm… I thought it was rather obvious we were-"

"That's not what I meant!" Harry squawked. On the other side of the room someone grumbled their protest before casting a silencing charm. "Why are you in_ my bed_?"

The curtains around the bed fluttered slightly in a nonexistent breeze. Ron looked thoroughly confused and sat up a bit, counting off the beds. "Oops… umm… sorry. You weren't in it and we, well…. Sorry, mate. You can crash in mine if ya want."

Harry growled, his hair practically standing on end. "Ron! That was my favorite blanket!"

Hermione sighed in a long-suffering sort of way, reaching around and tugging all the curtains back into place, slamming the ones in front of Harry shut so that only her face showed. "We'll cast a _scourgify_ when we're done," she muttered, slamming the curtains the rest of the way shut and casting locking and silencing spells.

Harry could only stare for a long time, mouth gaping as he fought between feeling outraged, disgusted and betrayed. He felt around for his wand, trying to think of some way to make Ron and Hermione just… _stop being naked in his bed_, but eventually he remembered he'd left it on Draco's nightstand. Unable to think of anything better to do, Harry stamped his foot, storming out of the room, hands clenched in angry fists at his sides. As the door slammed shut behind him, screams could be heard resounding through the dormitory as a certain red blanket burst into flames.

Harry was oblivious to the commotion in the dormitory, though, stomping down the stairs and bowling through a crowd of first years in his haste to get as far away as possible. Briefly, Harry entertained the possibility of returning to the dungeons and pretending he'd never left, but the thought of facing any more inquisitive Slytherins at the moment was too much to bear. Instead, Harry spent the day alone in the Room of Requirement, reading in front of the fire. Well, trying to read, at any rate. All he ended up doing was brooding.

Sunday, unfortunately, seemed to set the tone for Harry's entire week. Following what Harry deemed 'the Incident', Ron and Hermione both pointedly ignored him, sending him accusing glares on the few occasions their eyes happened to meet. What was worse, he couldn't even find the red blanket to give it a proper burial after its horrible desecration at the hands (and other parts) of his best friends. Harry knew getting another one would be as simple as going to the Room of Requirement and 'requiring' one, but somehow he had come to think of that as his and Draco's _special _blanket. It had been the blanket they'd shared that first night in the Room of Requirement. They had slept curled beneath it on Christmas Eve, and nearly every night for the remainder of the holiday. Just thinking about the blanket and its terrible fate brought unexplained tears to Harry's eyes, just as nearly everything that week did. Harry was depressed, more so than he could ever remember being before, and that was saying something. In lessons, Harry could not stay focused, and at meals he would hardly eat. Even during his nightly homework sessions with Draco, Harry would find himself staring off into space, his mind blank and his chest feeling painfully hollow. Draco seemed to be just as worried as Harry was depressed. Every day he would ask what was bothering Harry, and what he could do to help, but Harry could hardly understand the sudden change himself, let alone try to explain it to someone else. Besides, he knew if Draco ever found out about what Ron and Hermione had got up to that the Slytherin would be more intent on their guilt than ever. It had been an honest mistake, though… hadn't it? Besides, Harry felt terribly silly for being so depressed over a stupid blanket.

The morning of the Quidditch rematch dawned bright and cold, the sky an endless expanse of blue that promised to provide perfect conditions for flight. As Draco donned his Quidditch robes, however, he could not find within himself any excitement or anticipation for the game ahead. No matter how much Weasley and his team practiced over the winter holiday, there wasn't a chance they would provide the challenge Draco so strongly craved. For what must have been the thousandth time since he'd learned of the miserable rematch, Draco fervently wished it was Harry he'd be playing against. Harry. Worry welled up inside him as he trudged down the stairs to the Common Room and up to breakfast with Blaise and Pansy. Pancakes and bacon swam in syrup on his plate, untouched and growing colder by the minute, but Draco was too busy watching the other side of the Hall to care. Gryffindor table seemed to be in jubilant pandemonium, but Harry sat still and silent, staring off into middle space. All week Draco had watched as the Gryffindor retreated back into himself, refusing to eat or speak more than was absolutely necessary. Assignments went incomplete, tests were failed and cauldrons were exploded. It was as if Harry was physically there, but his mind was far away, as was the warmth and happiness he usually exuded. Draco could feel the sadness as a tangible force, even when Harry was asleep, slowly gnawing away at the beautiful boy. He was at a loss, though, as to a course of action; Harry adamantly reiterated each time Draco asked that he was merely having a bad week. Draco could feel there was something else, though, something Harry was holding back, and he desperately needed to know what it was. The Slytherin was so caught up in his thoughts and speculations that breakfast came to conclusion before Draco even realized the time had passed, and thus it was with an empty stomach and a heavy heart that he joined the rest of the team and walked down to the Pitch.

The conditions were, in fact, as perfect as Draco had imagined. A slight breeze ruffled his hair as he lazily circled above the wild acrobats a few meters below, and the sky was so clear, it almost hurt to look at it. Repeatedly Ron flew by, trying to draw him into a fight or a chase, but each time Draco merely flitted off to the other end of the Pitch. Flying over the Gryffindor stands, Draco scanned the writhing, screaming mass of red and gold, frowning when he failed to spot the head of messy black hair he'd been searching for. A sharp spike of disappointment shot through his chest as he zoomed off through the sky, but an answering tremor of warmth and encouragement soothed over it moments later. Harry's presence was clear and vivid in Draco's mind, lighter and more at ease than he had felt the other boy all week. Harry was close, and he was cheering for Draco. Another perusal of the Gryffindor stands proved useless, and any further searching was delayed when a brief glint of gold caught his eye, drawing and centering his attention instantly. Muscles tight in anticipation for the chase, Draco was not only shocked, but genuinely disappointed to turn around and find the Weasel on the other side of the pitch, cheering for Gryffindor as if he were a spectator, not a player. A quick dive was all it took to claim what should have been a legendary prize, and the crowd around him erupted conversely in cheers and angry shouts. It all seemed empty, though, even the cheers of the Slytherins in the stands as he circled the pitch. That is, until he chanced to look down. Blaise and Pansy were cheering wildly for him, jumping up and down in an uncharacteristic display of joy. Right beside them, though, louder and brighter than all others, was a beautiful, frantically waving patch of red and gold amongst the green and silver. A lion in the snakes den, and from the looks of things far more comfortable there than he had felt with the Gryffindor pack. Heat suffused Draco's cheeks at how right Harry looked in Slytherin domain, and with a renewed sense of vigor and the strength Harry's pride warming him, he set off around the Pitch in another victory lap, Snitch held high.


	29. The Fight

It took only a matter of minutes for the stands to empty out onto the Pitch below, the noise level spiking and then slowly tapering off as some students went back inside and others grouped together in discussion. Draco was caught up by his team the moment he landed, each player congratulating him. He could tell, though, they all felt as empty about the victory as he had. The teachers were next to approach him; Snape giving a silent nod, Hooch and Dumbledore engaging him in conversation.

Blaise and Pansy retreated to the warmth of the castle directly after the game to help set up for the victory party in the dungeons, leaving Harry alone to search the Pitch for Draco. His progress was slowed considerably by the wet slush still covering the ground, but at last he spotted Draco in the distance, talking to Professor Dumbledore. With a burst of warmth and a blooming smile he set off towards his target, feet squishing wetly through the churned up, muddy snow. He was halfway to his destination when his name was called in a questioning, too-familiar voice, stopping him in his tracks. Despite himself, Harry felt his shoulders begin to tense.

"Harry? What are you doing here? I didn't see you in the stands during the game."

Harry turned to see Ron standing there, looking irritable and red as ever, though from anger at losing the game, or him, he couldn't be sure.

"Oh- of course I was here, Ron. I wouldn't miss it. I was a few minutes late, though, and I couldn't find Hermione or the others in the stands so I sat with Luna and a couple of Ravenclaws."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Luna and Ravenclaws? Then what the bloody hell is this?"

Ron reached out with faster reflexes than he'd ever displayed at Quidditch, ripping a tiny Slytherin flag from where Harry had thought he'd hidden it inside his robes.

"Slytherin, Harry? You were sitting with the fucking _SLYTHERINS_! On top of all the crazy shit you've already pulled, you chose them over us? You traitor!"

"Ron, no! It's not like that. I was cheering for you both-"

"Yeah right, Harry! You were cheering for Malfoy all the way, weren't you? _Weren't you_! You filthy little rat, you're no better than Pettigrew, are you? Turning on your loving friends and playing with the Death Eaters."

"_RON_!" Harry stumbled back a step as Ron advanced, too shocked to even process what his ears were hearing.

"Some hero you are, _Harry._" He spat, grabbing Harry's left arm and wrenching him forward, pushing up the sleeve. "To think of all the sacrifices we've made for you! The things we've all done for you. I bet you've got the Mark and everything, don't you?"

"No Ron, let go! I don't have any Mark, and neither does Draco!" Sure enough, Harry's arm was bare as ever when Ron finally got the cloth bunched up, but this did not seem to deter him.

"Not yet, anyway. I've been watching you though, Harry. I've figured out what's going on," Ron pulled him in close, whispering in his ear. "I know about you and Malfoy." Harry pulled back, horror etched in every feature.

"No, Ron, you're wrong." He tried to squirm away, but pale, freckled fingers tightened painfully on his arm, digging deep enough to leave vicious marks of their own. "It isn't like that…"

"How is he, Harry?" Ron whispered, his voice taking on a dangerous edge Harry had never heard before. "I bet he makes you scream, doesn't he? Makes you beg like the filthy slut you are. You like spreading your legs for Death Eater scum, huh, Harry?"

Hot tears of shame were burning Harry's eyes, clouding his vision. He wanted to run, but found himself rooted to the spot by Ron's painful grip, which tightened further with every breath until Harry thought his arm might well snap in half under the pressure. Harry tried to worm away, but the fingers simply squeezed harder, shifting to ensure Harry was well and truly trapped. Looking up at Ron's sneering face through damp, heavy lashes, Harry whispered, voice almost inaudible, "Death Eater scum or not, Ron, Draco is more of a man than you could ever dream of being."

The words had barely left his mouth before a fist connected with his right eye, a sickening crunch reverberating through Harry's skull as shards of his broken glasses pierced his skin, burrowing deep and sending pain lancing through him. The momentum of the punch sent him tumbling backwards, vision darkening and blurring as dizziness overwhelmed him. Harry landed dully, sinking into the cold, muddy slush. Suddenly, a green blur seemed to come out of nowhere, zooming by overhead at an alarming speed. As it did, Harry found himself overwhelmed by a sudden surge of raw emotion, pairing with the pain throbbing in his head to send him into a panting, motionless ball on the ground.

Draco had been talking to Dumbledore when he felt a veritable explosion take place in his chest, shock waves of fear, anger and pain rippling through him so hard they left him breathless, his blood burning hot as it pounded through his veins. The conversation was instantly forgotten and he spun around, eyes honing instantly on Harry as the dark haired boy crumpled to the ground at Ronald Weasely's feet. Unadulterated rage bloomed in Draco's chest and he was on his broom before he even knew what he was doing, closing the distance and gaining momentum by the second, flinging himself forward and tackling the sneering Gryffindor to the ground. The heavy haze of fury clouding Draco's mind made him numb to the pain as Ron got in one decent punch, fueling him on as he pinned the Weasel to the ground and proceeded to beat him absolutely senseless. Fists flew, connecting again and again anywhere Draco could find, the world around them fading until his only focus was the sound of ribs cracking and a nose breaking, the way the blood was dripping onto the snow, and the fact that through it all, Ron was insulting Harry. The gasped fragments of "filthy slut" and "deserves what he got" fueled Draco to heights of violence he'd never known, his fingers gripping that blasphemous throat and squeezing harder and harder, desperate to halt the string of heretical filth pouring forth. Eventually the words stopped, but even as the Weasel went silent they echoed through Draco's mind, haunting him even after he was forcibly ripped from the bloody mass on the ground. Draco struggled to break free, realizing momentarily it was Crabbe who was restraining him as teachers poured over the scene.

Things like "is he breathing?" and "someone get him to Poppy" made it through the haze, bringing reality crashing back around him with nauseating clarity.

"Let me go, I'm okay." Draco panted and was hesitantly released, Crabbe stepping to the side as Draco took advantage of the teachers' distracted state to sink to the ground beside Harry.

"Uhh… Draco?" Harry looked disoriented and very much in pain. Draco winced to look at him. Already Harry's right eye was swollen almost entirely shut, his glasses shattered, several large, glistening shards easily visible sticking straight out of his cheek, blood covering the entire side of his face. Draco felt ready to pass out, but put on a brave face and stroked the mess of dark hair nonetheless.

"It's okay, just hang tight there." Draco smiled, opening his mouth to say something further when a firm hand on his shoulder caught his attention. He gave Harry one last weak smile before getting shakily to his feet and following the elderly Headmaster several paces away.

"Mr. Malfoy. I believe you will be owing quite an explanation for this. I might also add that it would be pertinent to profusely thank your friend, Mr. Crabbe, for having the good sense to stop you when he did, or we might not be able to enjoy the indulgence of explanations." Dumbledore's tone was low and sharp and quick.

Draco winced.

"I'm sorry, sir. I never meant it to go so far. He… he hurt Harry, sir, and then when we were fighting, he kept saying terrible things about the… thing that happened to Harry." Dumbledore's brow furrowed.

"The rape, you mean?"

"Don't say that word!" Draco hissed, casting a hasty glance backwards. Luckily, Harry was too busy trying to sit up to have heard. When he looked back at the elderly Headmaster, wise blue eyes were boring into him, understanding blooming in their depths.

"I see. What exactly was said?" By then, Harry had stumbled to his feet. Hastily, Draco leaned in, whispering, "He called Harry a slut, and a Death Eater, and said that he deserved what he got and that… and that he probably… probably liked it. He said Harry was a traitor, that it would have been better if Harry had… died. He just… kept saying such terrible things, I can't even remember it all." Dumbledore's eyes were wide behind his spectacles.

"I see. That is… very interesting." Dumbledore watched in silence as Harry stumbled forward, still obviously dizzy. With a sigh, and a thoughtful frown Dumbledore continued. "I do admit your reaction was understandable given the extreme circumstances. However, I fear I cannot simply dismiss this matter. This is the second time this school year that blood has been spilt on this ground as a result of fights between Mr. Weasley and yourself. And, given the nature of the actions and words from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, I feel it suitable that one hundred points be deducted from each house. Subsequently, since Quidditch seems to insight such actions, I also hereby disqualify both houses from playing any further games this school year."

Draco tensed, words of protest automatically rushing to his mouth, but Harry's hand found his at his side, the firm, warm grip silencing and steadying him.

"Yes, sir."

"And, finally, in order to dissuade the both of you from any further displays of violence, neither of you will be permitted to visit Poppy, or use magic to prematurely heal these wounds."

"_WHAT_! But Harry-"

"Will live, Mr. Malfoy. I wish to keep it as fresh in your mind as possible that fighting, regardless of the reasons, is strictly prohibited here at Hogwarts. Any further incidents and I fear I may have to take more drastic measures. Now, I believe my presence will be required in the hospital." Dumbledore sounded uncharacteristically exasperated as he turned and began to walk back to the castle. Draco's mouth opened once more to protest, but Harry tugged his hand.

"Draco, leave it. He's right, I'll be fine. Besides, neither of us are anywhere near as bad off as Ron was. I saw them levitate him inside." Draco's heart sank.

"But Harry-"

"Come on, let's go in. I'm freezing."

XxX

"Blaise, for Merlin's sake, be careful!" Draco whined, a wave of nausea washing over him. If he hadn't already been sitting on the floor, he felt that he probably would have fainted. Harry's grip on his hand tightened painfully. "Blaise!"

"Shove it, Draco, before Pansy has to sedate you. Or worse, make you wait outside."

Another piece of glass clinked into the metal bowl. Harry's grip relaxed. Draco sighed.

The mood in the Common Room had been a somber one when they arrived, the news of the fight preceding them courtesy of Vincent Crabbe and the other members of the team. Upon learning of the new Quidditch ban the younger years had erupted into mayhem, predictably blaming Harry for their predicament. Apparently it escaped their little ears that Gryffindor had been banned as well. Draco did not bother trying to stop them, though; he had more important things to worry about. Instead, he motioned for Pansy and Blaise to follow and lead Harry up to the dormitories, pulling them into his room and locking the door behind them. Draco had quickly found himself sitting on the floor beside his bed, alternately ready to throw up and pass out as Blaise and Pansy rushed around, gathering what they could and transfiguring what they couldn't. Harry had been situated in a pile of towels on Draco's bed, arm dangling over the side, their fingers meshed. Every few minutes those fingers would grip Draco's clammy hand reflexively, the second-hand wave of pain making Draco queasy, faint and increasingly verbal about it. Unlike the pale, sweating Slytherin on the floor, Harry remained absolutely silent through the whole ordeal, face hardly twitching as Blaise removed each individual piece of glass with a pair of tweezers. It seemed Dumbledore had somehow fixed it so that spells would not work on their wounds, leaving them to Muggle methods and the most basic healing ointments. From the look of things, it seemed Harry was to have a new scar. Another shard of glass was plucked free, Harry's hand gripping his own furiously.

"Can't we at least use a numbing charm?" Draco chanced a glance over his shoulder, paling further. Merlin, there was blood _everywhere_.

" Draco. Shut. Up." Harry bit out between clenched teeth as Blaise ran a tender finger over the wound, finding yet another sliver of deeply embedded glass.

"Draco," Pansy sighed, settling onto the floor beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Try to breathe, alright? It's almost over." Draco nodded miserably.

"I think I've got it all. Can you feel anything else in there?" Blaise sat back, wiping his hands on a towel. Harry opened and closed his mouth, scrunching his nose and setting his jaw.

"Yeah… there's still something in there." With careful fingers, Harry probed until he found it; a long, slender shard deep under the skin of his cheek. "Here." He lay back down and Blaise felt around to determine how best to get it out.

"Bloody hell. Alright, umm… just… hold still and try to breathe. This isn't going to feel very pleasant." Slowly, carefully, Blaise used the blunt side of the tweezers and his fingers to work the sliver back through Harry's cheek towards the open wound beneath his eye. Draco worried for a moment that his fingers might break under Harry's grip, but still the dark haired boy remained silent, his face frozen. When the tip pierced through the skin prematurely, Harry's breath hitched and caught in his throat, trembling head to foot from repressed tension.

"Shit. Pansy, get some water and a blanket, I think he's going into shock."

"I'm… fine…" Harry panted, a soft groan finally tearing its way past his lips as the inch long sliver was plucked free in one smooth tug. It clinked into the bowl with the rest of the pieces.

"I know. I meant Draco." Blaise smirked at him as he sat about wiping his hands again. Harry peered over the side of the bed and sure enough, Draco was flat on his back, staring glassy eyed at the ceiling, chest heaving. Harry released his hand, wincing as it landed limply on the floor with a thud.

"Will he be alright?" Harry lay back down and Blaise began to wash the wound with warm, soapy water. "Yeah, don't worry about him. He's tough enough, but with this much blood it was only a matter of time." Harry winced a little as the soap stung terribly, but the healing salve moments later blessedly numbed the ripped up flesh a bit. Harry watched as Pansy propped Draco up with a pillow, wrapping the trembling boy in a blanket and helping him sip from a glass of water.

"I knew he was a bit squeamish, but I never imagined it was this bad," Harry mused as Blaise taped a square bandage across his cheek before handing Harry his freshly repaired glasses. "Thanks, by the way."

"No problem. You took it really well; you're tougher than you look." Harry smiled, feeling more at ease. He knew how to spot a Slytherin compliment when it came his way. A soft groan from the floor interrupted any further conversation, though.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes. Pansy, dear, I do believe this is our invitation to leave." Blaise stood, grabbing up the bloody towels and bowl of glass shards, heading towards the door with them before Draco could catch sight and pass out again. Pansy stood as well, casting Draco a worried glance before following Blaise to the door.

"Thanks again. For just now, and back at the game." Harry smiled, and, to his surprise and delight, they smiled back.

"No worries, Harry. Just don't go all sappy-Gryffindor on us." Pansy joked, sending Draco one last worried look before letting Blaise lead her out of the room with an arm around her back. Harry had to bite back a laugh.

"Ugh… I feel wretched," Draco grumbled as the door shut, eyes still closed as he crawled up onto the bed. "Why do I feel so wretched?" Draco peeked one eye open, examining Harry's face as the Gryffindor drew him into a hug. "Nice shiner, by the way."

Harry snorted, nudging Draco onto his back and taking advantage of the expanse of robe-clad chest as a pillow. "You've got a matching one, if you hadn't noticed." Draco scrunched up his nose, wincing a little as he realized his left eye was, in fact, a little sore.

"So it would seem," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Though I imagine yours is by far more impressive." Another snort. Harry tensed, seemingly aware of the coming words before they were even spoken.

"Harry," -"I don't want to talk about it."- "about what Weasley said-"

Harry snapped the moment Draco started talking, defenses instantly rearing up.

"We're not going to talk about it," Draco tightened his arms around Harry's middle when the bristling Gryffindor tried to pull away. "I just want to take a moment to vocalize the fact that we both know every single word of it was utter, disgusting rubbish." Harry opened his mouth. "No. What we did on Valentine's day does _not_ make you a slut. That was a beautiful, physical expression of feeling between two equals that care about each other very much. Never let anyone convince you otherwise." Draco whispered fiercely, tilting Harry's chin up so their eyes met. Harry was fleetingly surprised how quickly the Slytherin could go from fainting to overprotective.

A brief flicker of pain passed across Harry's face as bit the inside of his cheek, the movement pulling muscles that would have preferred to be left alone. A rush of annoyance washed over him, but with a sigh of resignation Harry relented, a noncommittal grunt escaping as he let his head fall back to Draco's chest. Harry's heart still felt heavy, but Draco knew that it was not the right time to prod further. He was simply glad that at least Harry was comfortable enough with him to not shy away from, or be embarrassed by physical contact. Instead, the dark head pressed closer, face buried against the arch of smooth, white throat, their arms around each other tightening. For a very long time they lay there in silence, curled beneath the blanket Draco had salvaged from the floor, arms and legs intimately entwined. No words made it past the warmth suffusing them; feelings and whispered sighs and stolen kisses all they needed. They were content to simply tangle themselves together as tightly as possible, each drawing strength and comfort from the warmth the other exuded, letting it carry them into a world all their own. Eventually Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle came in and prepared for bed, but none dared to intrude upon their sanctuary. The room remained completely silent, save for the slight shuffling of pajamas being located and taps running in the bathroom. More time passed, and the sounds were eventually replaced by soft snoring around the room, darkness cocooning them in an intimate world. It was well after midnight and Draco had been dozing slowly off to sleep when Harry's whispered voice broke through the spell.

"Draco, you know I have to go back to my own dorm." Despite the words, they both tightened the embrace imperceptibly.

"No. No, you don't. You can stay here." Harry shook his head, carefully disentangling his lethargic limbs.

"I can't, Draco. The longer I'm away, the harder things will be to patch up." Even in the dark, Harry could tell Draco was opening his mouth to protest. "I have to. No matter what, I'm still a Gryffindor, and no matter how much I enjoy laying here curled up with you, sooner or later I'll have to go back. I'd rather get it over with."

The bed creaked its protest as Harry stood, toeing on his discarded shoes and groping around for his glasses in the dark. Draco followed suit, carefully unfolding the wire frames settled beside his head on the pillow and placing them on Harry's bandaged face. Even in the dark he could see Harry's pained expression as his fingers bumped the taped-on square. "Sorry…" He whispered. Hands brushed and tangled in the dark as they padded down the stairs and into the Common Room, thankful for the cover of darkness against any who might have intruded upon them.

"Can I at least go with you?" Draco asked, worry wrenching his heart once more as he caught a good look at Harry's battered face in the firelight. As he feared, Harry shook his head.

"No. I've got to go by myself." Draco sighed.

"Be careful. I… I love you." Harry tensed, looking up at him longingly as he opened his mouth to reply, but the only sound that managed to immerge after a moment was a breathy, deflated sigh. Green eyes darkened and fell, brow furrowed as his jaw clicked shut. Harry looked hastily away, head dipping to stare at a nonexistent spot on Draco's shoulder. "It's alright. I know." Draco whispered reassuringly, careful fingers settling on Harry's chest, splayed over his heart. Harry nodded, resting his forehead wearily on Draco's shoulder, pulling the other boy into a tight hug. They clung together for several more long minutes before Harry pulled away, stepping towards the door. "I'll see you later," he whispered before promptly disappearing into the blackness. The only sign of his departure was a soft click as the portrait slid shut. Draco all but collapsed, thankful there was a sofa not too far behind him.

The trek to Gryffindor tower seemed to stretch on indefinitely, longer and more tiring than Harry ever recalled it being before. In the darkness, he was hyperaware of his surroundings, easily dodging cat and teacher alike. Each step on his inexorable journey seemed to wear on him, dragging him lower and leaving him more exhausted than the last. Finally, Harry found himself on the seventh floor, staring at the snoring portrait of the Fat Lady. Fear and adrenaline welled up inside him, sending his blood pounding hot and loud in his ears and making his palms sweat. He stood there for several minutes, poised on the threshold of what he had once considered his true home, feeling the darkness around him steadily encroaching, suffocating him until he could stand there no longer. Whispering the password to the dozing Fat Lady, Harry held his breath as the portrait swung slowly and silently open, beckoning him into the foreboding darkness of Gryffindor Tower.


	30. The Bond

Dying embers cracked and spat in the enormous stone hearth, the lone, dwindling light casting the room into vivid red highlights and bottomless shadows. Harry slipped silently inside, thankful for the late hour as he padded towards his dormitory on soundless feet. A log in the fire cracked as he passed, causing Harry's heart to leap into his throat. A flurry of sparks shot up, drawing his gaze magnetically and in the momentary influx of light, Harry caught sight of a strange silhouette beside the fireplace. Muscles froze and tensed for flight as the shadow form stretched and elongated, solidifying as it moved closer towards him. Harry backed up a step, anxiety quieting only slightly as the flickering glow reflected off of bushy brown hair and familiar features made alien in their severity.

"Out a little late tonight, aren't you, Harry?" Her voice was cold, icy like it used to get when he and Ron had behaved foolishly. Empty memories from that previous lifetime came rushing over him, nostalgia made bitter by the look in her eyes, a far colder gaze than she had ever directed at him before.

"I had detention… with Filch." Lying to Hermione had never felt so natural before, but that fact did not, apparently, make her any more apt to believe it.

"You did not. You were down in the dungeons with Malfoy." Harry's jaw tensed.

"Hermione, don't be silly. Why would I-" reaching into her robes, Hermione extracted an old, folded up piece of parchment which Harry recognized easily. Bloody fucking Map.

"How could you? How could you let this happen? How could you turn your back on your friends when we needed you most? We would have forgiven you! Even Ron, despite the fact it's your fault he very nearly _died_ today, not to mention you got us disqualified from the House Cup."

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times before any sound emerged, shock and indignation filling him. "My fault? _My fault_? You two are the ones that turned your backs on me! Ever since I was attacked last fall-"

"Oh, you're calling it an attack now, are you? God, Harry, you got a little roughed up, let it go!" Harry gave a squawk of outrage, absolutely unable to comprehend the words he was hearing.

"Roughed up! _Hermione_! I was raped for over a month by someone I can't even remember, then beaten to within an inch of my life and left to _die_! If it weren't for Draco, I would have, too!" Color was rising in Harry's face, staining his cheeks red with anger and humiliation, unable to believe he'd actually said that aloud.

"Harry, keep your voice down, there's no need to be dramatic." Harry's eyes widened. In the hearth, the few smoldering embers that remained gave a violent hiss, flaring and sputtering. Neither Harry nor Hermione noticed this, though, nor did they detect the growing crowd that their raised voices were attracting from the dormitories until Ginny stepped forward, twisting the hem of her white cotton nightgown in her hands.

"Harry, please don't do this," she begged, eyes wide and bright and imploring. "Please, just apologize. Don't you remember how things used to be? Don't you want things to go back to normal?" Harry tensed, something inside his chest clenching at the look in those enormous brown eyes, the pleading note in her voice. The idea of 'normal'.

"We'll forgive you, Harry!" Hermione chimed in. "And we can put all this behind us once and for all. Don't you remember how it use to be? All your friends here in the Tower? It's not too late; we can still put this awful mess behind us. All you have to do is say you're sorry." Hermione gazed at him beseechingly. Harry's chest tightened further, eyes wide and uncertain. A chance to set things right? Go back to normal? Harry opened his mouth to speak, then promptly shut it. As quickly as the hope bloomed inside his chest it was promptly deflated by an assault of memories; long hours alone in the hospital wondering why they never came back, Ron's incessant bragging about his stolen Quidditch position, all the times they'd disappeared when he needed them most, the biting words and unfounded accusations. Most of all, though, the image of that blanket, bunched up and soiled beneath the two people that had once held his heart in their hands. Something clicked inside his chest, and with sickening clarity he realized that the Ron and Hermione of before were dead and gone forever. There _was _no going back. It was too much and too late and too _wrong_.

"The only ones that need to apologize are you and Ron," Harry whispered, turning and striding towards the door.

"You're being childish!" Hermione yelled, voice cold with fury as she chased after him. She grabbed hold of Harry's arm to stop him, fingers fitting neatly into the bruises Ron had left there earlier, making Harry wince. "We're your only friends, Harry. Malfoy is a cold hearted, evil, Death Eater bastard! He's worthless! He's just playing you, and soon enough you'll realize it and come back to us."

Green eyes narrowed dangerously. In the hearth, the sputtering embers shot suddenly and violently back to life. The flames danced together, feeding off each other and growing higher and higher until they lapped at the inner walls of the hearth, the raging heat making the old stones groan in protest. Around the room a series of gasps rent the air, but Harry was deaf to them.

"We're the only people that have ever cared about you," Hermione continued, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "and the only ones that ever will." Harry's shoulders tensed visibly, anger exploding in his chest. The pain in his arm was forgotten and he jerked away, whirling to face her, noses nearly touching they were so close.

"I'm afraid you're wrong for once, Hermione." Harry turned once more and stormed from the Common Room, slamming the door so loudly he never heard the screams within as the mirror above the mantle exploded into hundreds of thousands of tiny shards.

XxX

"You could have come back down to Slytherin, you know."

Harry stood just inside the doorway of the Room of Requirement, staring blankly at the back of a pristine blonde head. Following his fight with Hermione, he had stormed out of Gryffindor Tower without much thought as to where exactly he would go for the night. His first thought, as it always seemed to be when something went wrong, was to go down to the dungeons and find Draco. Guilt and apprehension knew him all too well, though, gnawing in his chest until he resignedly turned back the way he had come and set off down the dark corridor towards the Room of Requirement. However, upon opening the door he was startled to find it looked nothing like the cozy, nondescript hideaway with oversized black sofa and roaring fire he had become accustomed to. Instead, it was identical to the Slytherin Common Room in every way, complete with Draco Malfoy seated on the green sofa in front of the fire, back to Harry, staring into the flames. The lingering tendrils of anger from his fight with Hermione flared irrationally bright and sudden inside his chest, licking up the sides of his neck and cheeks, staining his skin pink. Harry couldn't logically explain why Draco's presence should make him so angry, but it did. But then, everything just then made him angry. The agitation was not the only thing to assault him, though. A myriad of questions came flying to the forefront of his mind as well: He wanted to demand what Draco was doing there, how he'd known Harry would be there, especially when Harry hadn't even known until moments before. He was also curious as to why the Room of Requirement looked like the Slytherin Common Room instead of their usual meeting room, or the hideout Harry had been craving. Most of all, though, he wanted to ask why Draco felt so sad.

Harry took several long, deep breaths, trying to quiet the misplaced anger threatening to choke him. _'Draco hasn't done anything wrong,_' he silently chastised himself. _'You've no reason to be so angry. Especially not at him! None of this is Draco's fault.'_ This did nothing to ease the swelling waves of annoyance eating at him, though. Not trusting himself to keep control of his emotions, Harry chose to forgo speech altogether, moving to sit silently beside Draco on the couch. As he did so, however, he caught a glimpse of familiar red, eyes going wide as he saw the other boy extending a too familiar blanket towards him. Harry's heart leapt and sank all in one beat, the momentary spark of recognition eclipsed when logic promptly pointed out that they were in the Room of Requirement. Of course the blanket was there. '_A _blanket,' he corrected himself. 'Just _a _blanket, not _the_ blanket.' The anger that he had barely managed to suppress spiked sharply, adrenaline flooding him, face twisting into an ugly sneer.

"God damnit!" he yelled, snatching the blanket and storming to the fire, throwing the soft, wadded-up bundle into the blaze. The cloth erupted in a bright flurry of red sparks, shooting up in the air and showering back down as the magic that created the blanket slowly extinguished. Draco stared on in silence, face composed.

"I'm sick of this!" Harry growled, shaking off the dying sparks of magic that had landed on him, turning and kicking the table so hard the excess tea in what he assumed was his cup sloshed over the sides, pooling on the wooden table top. "I never want to see that bloody blanket again."

"Why?" Draco looked on with cool, inquisitive grey eyes as Harry's hands balled into tight, trembling fists, the air around them beginning to crackle with wild magic.

"Because Ron and Hermione had sex on it! The morning after Valentine's Day I found them _in my bed_! They didn't even pretend to feel bad about it, just locked me out of _my own fucking bed_ and said they'd do a goddamn _cleaning charm_ when they were done! Except, when I went back later, they didn't! God, they hadn't even bothered to clean up afterwards; my bed was so disgusting. Worst of all though, they stole the blanket! It's just… gone. I've looked everywhere but I can't find it. I… I had wanted to give it a proper burial at least. It deserved better than that." Draco could feel the anger draining slowly to bitter resignation as Harry spoke, the loose magic humming around them calming slightly. Gently catching the Gryffindor's hand in his, Draco pulled him onto the couch. Harry barely seemed to notice, but he did accept the warm ceramic mug when Draco placed it in his hands.

"I don't know why I've been upset over a stupid blanket, especially when I knew I could just come here and want a new one. That's the problem, though. I don't _want_ a new one. I wanted _that_ one. It was… special…" Harry trailed off, taking a tentative swallow of the tea warming his hands. The sweet, earthy taste of lavender overtook his senses with the first sip, the scent steadily cocooning his mind, calming it. "Why did it have to be that blanket…?"

Harry sighed, taking another drink, then another. The warmth slowly began to seep through his chest as he drank, soothing over him and extinguishing the last remnants of the rage that had gripped him until he felt nothing more than deflated and slightly sleepy. Several long minutes of silence passed as they drank their tea, the tension and angry magic in the air dissolving with time until it had dissipated completely. Harry's head sunk heavily onto Draco's shoulder, another sigh escaping.

"You were right." Harry whispered. Those three little words, paired with the hot breath that carried them ghosting across his throat, made Draco shiver.

"About Granger, you mean?" Harry pulled back, brow furrowed.

"Our link must be getting stronger. Not only could I feel how upset you were, but I could tell you were in the Gryffindor Common Room, and that the filthy Mudblood was the cause of it all. It's also how I knew you'd be here." Harry twitched slightly at the word 'Mudblood', but made no protest against it. Instead, he let his head fall back down on Draco's pajama clad shoulder, breathing in deeply. The smell of Draco- lingering cologne, incense, soap and something indescribably deep and wild and passionate- had the same calming effect as the lavender. Harry sighed yet again. He found he was having a hard time _not_ sighing.

"There's something terribly wrong with Ron and Hermione both. They just… aren't themselves. Hermione called me a traitor and kept telling me to apologize. And she kept saying I was being over dramatic about the thing-that-happened, and that I should just get over it. She said everything was my fault. Worst of all, though… she found out about us. Which means Ron will know he's right about what he said earlier. She… she had my Map. She saw us together down in your room…." Harry tailed off, burying his face against Draco's throat, thankful for the gentle arms that tightened around him. "I just don't know what to do anymore, Draco. This is getting ridiculous. I can't even go to my own dormitory without something strange happening, or someone popping up to tell me how awful you are and how you're just waiting to hurt me. The truth is, though, they're the ones that are treating me horribly and hurting me all the time! I'm… I'm actually… actually sort of scared to be alone with them. It's all just getting out of control. I feel like I'm constantly on edge; I can't sleep, can't concentrate, I'm never hungry. I don't want to do anything at all anymore, except hide away and _cry_. I've got to do something, I can't just go on like this..." Harry trailed off. Draco bit his lip, glancing worriedly down at the mess of dark hair.

"Harry?" Tilting his head back, Draco looked down into the worn, tired face beside him, trying to think how best to word what he was going to say. "Do you know what depression is? I don't mean just feeling sad, but actual medical depression?" Harry shook his head, pulling back a bit himself so he could look at the other boy without going cross-eyed.

"I think you might have medical depression, Harry. I don't really know much about it, but my mum used to have it; I overheard her talking to a healer when I was little, and she said almost the exact same thing you did. Then the healer just gave her a potion, and she felt better." Harry pulled out of Draco's arms completely, eyes wide.

"Wait. You mean this potion… fixed her?" Draco nodded. Hope bloomed once more in Harry's chest, warming him all over. A potion that would make it all go away? Something that would actually fix him? No, it couldn't be that simple. Logic reared its ugly head once more, a myriad of blaring doubts filling his mind. The smile Harry hadn't even been aware he'd been wearing fell.

"But Draco, how are we going to get the potion? The only way is either through Madam Pomfrey, or St. Mungo's, and I don't want to go to either of them. Besides I… I don't really want anyone else to know."

Harry made a good point. After Pomfrey's terrible misjudgment on releasing the Gryffindor from the hospital so soon after the attack, Draco wasn't too enthusiastic about seeking out her help either. Privacy was also important, and there was no way Harry's depression would _not _get leaked to the Prophet if they went to St. Mungo's. Only a few months before Draco would have turned to Snape for help, but the thought of even approaching the man anymore made his skin crawl. No, they couldn't trust anyone else with this knowledge; it would just be too dangerous. And then it hit him.

"We'll brew it."

"_WHAT_?" It never ceased to fascinate Draco just how large Harry's eyes could become.

"You heard me. We'll brew it ourselves. Potions assistant or not, I'm still top of the class. I bet we can find the recipe, either in our texts, or the library. We can even look in the Restricted Section if we have to. We'll steal what we can from the Potions storage room and order anything else we need through owl delivery! It'll be perfect, Harry, you'll get the potion and no one else will ever know." Harry, however, was looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Draco, I'm not sure about this…" he trailed off as Draco took one hand in each of his, squeezing gently.

"Just give it a chance? Tomorrow we can go to the library and look it up. We'll read about it first to make sure I'm right. If you do have it, we'll just see what we need for the potion, and how to do it, then you can decide if you want to go ahead with it. You can change your mind about it whenever you want if something doesn't feel right. Just… give it a chance?" Harry felt sick to his stomach the more he thought about the potion. Something about it just felt… wrong. However, he recalled another time, not that long before, when Draco had offered him two rings and asked him to take a chance. Harry stroked his thumb along the band, watching the firelight reflecting off of it. If Draco had been right then…

"Alright…" His voice wavered, and while he was sure his doubt was still very clear, Draco pulled him into a tight hug.

XxX

The sixth year boy's dormitories in the Slytherin version of the Room of Requirement were identical to the ones that Draco lived in, except for the noted lack of his roommates. Both boys had decided that, seeing as it was well past two in the morning and Draco's friends, not to mention Ron and Hermione (and probably the whole of Gryffindor by then) had already discovered their relationship, they might as well spend the night. Neither boy bothered to voice aloud how glad they really were to have the time together after everything that had happened.

"I still don't understand why it looks like Slytherin in here," Harry murmured into Draco's chest, sighing again as warm fingers combed through his hair.

"Because that's where you wanted to be. It wasn't Slytherin until you showed up, you know." Harry could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, but couldn't find the will power to be anywhere near as embarrassed as he thought he probably should be. The hands slid slowly up and down over his back through his shirt, kneading tense shoulders and trailing down his arms. Fingers rubbed over thin cotton, tenderly massaging down towards Harry's hands.

"Oh- oww…" Harry hissed, flinching as the wandering fingers found his left forearm. He snatched it quickly away, clutching it reflexively to his chest and rolling away from the other boy.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, worry evident in voice and eyes, flooding the bond as he followed. Carefully taking the hand of the cradled arm he drew it down, brushing a thumb across the back of Harry's hand. Harry tried to jerk his arm free, but Draco refused to let go.

"It's just a little tender…" However, Harry's words made no difference when Draco pushed up the thin cotton of his sleeve past his elbow, revealing mottled flesh spotted with black and blue fingerprints. There were over a dozen little circular marks of varying darkness and size, overlapping and meshing together to form a ring all the way around Harry's arm.

"How…?" Draco breathed, fingers ghosting over the marks, willing them away just as he wished for the deep gashes under the bandage on Harry's cheek to vanish.

"Ron, mostly. Hermione made her contribution as well, though." Harry bit his lip, embarrassed and uncertain, feeling exposed. He itched to pull his sleeve back down.

"Oh Merlin, Harry…" Draco looked stricken, voice barely above a whisper as he leant down and brushed a tender kiss across the worst of the marks. Harry gasped so sharply it nearly hurt.

"Draco?" Another kiss, and another, tender and breathy, lips slightly parted as they soothed across over-warm flesh. Soft, damp kisses continued unerringly around his entire arm, lips lavishing attention on every inch of mottled skin in a show of tenderness and affection that made Harry's chest keen. "Draco..?" The only answer was a soft "hush." Harry's pulse leapt at the first touch of tongue, silken wet warmth lapping gently, tracing patterns that chilled quickly when they met the air. Lips and tongue continued on around, nuzzling softly, ever wary of the abused nerves just below. Harry squirmed as the soothing tongue abandoned its previous path, turning adventurous and flicking upwards to tease along the sensitive skin at the inner junction of his elbow, tracing along the vein there in a warm, feather-soft caress. "Draco…" The question was forgotten, replaced with a gasped exhalation as teeth grazed skin softly. Harry's head lolled back against the pillow, all embarrassment forgotten as hot shivers chased down his sides, pooling low in his stomach as Draco sucked the pulse-point there. Draco could feel the rising desire in the air like a tangible force, enveloping them, pulling them deeper, startling Draco with its intensity. When he went to pull away though, Harry's hands tangled in his shirt, tugging slightly. "No…"

That tiny, breathy word sent hot shivers through him, his breath catching in his throat as Harry pulled him into a desperate, hungry kiss. The taste of Harry's mouth was overwhelming, intoxicating, sweeter than he could ever remember it being before, and Draco was fast becoming drunk on it. Quick, eager tongues tangled and tasted, licking and teasing, gentle nips of teeth soothed with tongue until both were panting. Harry's fingers clenched and unclenched around handfuls of Draco's shirt, Draco's own hands slipping carefully beneath the hem of Harry's shirt to ghost across warm, trembling stomach. Draco could hardly breathe by the time Harry broke out of the kiss, dark head thrown back on a moan as fingers brushed across one hardened nipple, then the other, denim clad hips bucking up into pajama clad ones. Draco couldn't restrain a moan at the feel of Harry's erection pressing against his stomach, his own hips involuntarily arching forward.

"Draco… please…" Harry gasped as lips found a nipple through cotton, alternately sucking and blowing cool air across the wet fabric.

"Please what, Harry?" Green eyes were glazed over with passion when Draco looked up, Harry's breath hitching responsively as Draco nipped playfully at the straining, sensitive flesh.

Harry's only answer was a whimper, and Draco didn't bother to persist. They both seemed to reach a silent understanding, hands working together to remove as much clothing as quickly as possible. Draco's shirt was the first to hit the floor, Harry's getting tangled around his arms but following close behind. The air echoed with gasped breaths and whispered moans as hands and mouths explored, a strangled groan piercing the near-silence as the zip on Harry's trousers was pulled down. Wide, startled green eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back at the first tentative touch of tongue. Draco watched in wonder as Harry's face flushed further with each lick, a strangled "oh God" escaping when soft lips parted to take the throbbing length inside. Clammy fingers curled and tightened around handfuls of blanket as Harry's hips arched involuntarily, frantic and desperate and pleading. Harry's skin felt near to burning, thighs trembling beneath Draco's hands until the muscles went rigid, a strangled, keening noise ripping from Harry's throat. Draco swallowed repeatedly, throat working until Harry was reduced to a twitching, gasping heap on the bed, beautiful and flushed, trousers tangled around his knees. The feel and taste and sight combined together to drown Draco in arousal, hips bucking down into the mattress desperately, so close to release his muscles were already trembling with it.

"No…" Harry gasped, shaky hands stilling Draco's movements, blonde brows hitching with need.

Harry moved so fast, Draco found himself on his back with his trousers open before his head could stop swimming. "_Harry_!" Draco's voice broke with need, spine bowing with pleasure as warm, chapped lips parted around him. "Harry.. ah.. I.. I'm…" But Harry did not stop, did not stop until long after Draco's voice dissolved into whimpers, hips twisting and fingers clenching in the sweaty sheets beneath them. Even when Draco collapsed into a boneless heap, Harry did not pull away, curling up instead and nuzzling against smooth, perfect stomach.

Glassy grey eyes blinked down in wonder at the dark, messy head, running nerveless fingers through sweat-matted hair. '_Oh Harry… you didn't have to…_' he thought to himself, already drifting towards sleep. '_I wanted to,'_ was the resounding reply as Harry sleepily dragged himself up, kicking his trousers and shorts off the rest of the way. He collapsed against Draco's chest, head cradled in the crook of pale throat and shoulder. Arms tightened around each other as sleep claimed them, a plush, green blanket settling itself over their sleeping forms and warding off the chill air.

Neither boy noticed that they hadn't spoken aloud.


	31. The Research

"Oh… ohhh…" Harry groaned, eyes squeezing shut with pleasure as the first pulses of hot water hit him. The lingering ache in his neck and shoulders and back dulled to a low throb as he stood under the soothing spray for long minutes, propped limply against the wall. Fighting the sleep threatening to reclaim him, Harry eventually forced nerveless fingers to work suds through his wild, sweat matted hair, sliding down to sleepily scrub at his face. Between the early hour and the steaming warmth of the shower, Harry was so groggy and relaxed that he'd completely forgotten the bandage on his cheek and what lay beneath it until his fingers brushed soaked-through gauze, eyes jolting open with surprise.

"Shit…" He gasped, all traces of sleep draining quickly away. Questing fingers felt around, picking at a corner of the tape that had come unstuck. Figuring he was probably due for a new one anyhow, he grabbed hold of the corner, ripping off the bandage and tape in one smooth tug and letting the water wash over the exposed skin. He was very relieved to find the numbing salve from the previous day seemed to still be in effect; it didn't hurt at all.

Painful or not, though, Harry was familiar enough with cuts and scrapes to know that long periods of exposure to warm, pulsing water were highly unadvisable if one did not wish to procure a new scar from the experience. Under threat of another obvious physical abnormality, Harry hastily rinsed the soap from his hair and rushed from the shower, barely pausing to towel off before tugging on his jeans and digging around for a first aid kit and his glasses. Gauze and tape at the ready, Harry used his towel to wipe the condensation from the mirror, bracing himself for the worst. What he saw, though, made his heart skip a beat and had him turning and running from the bathroom.

"Draco! Draco wake up…" Harry jumped on the bed, his usual hesitation to wake the other boy completely forgotten. "Draco… _Draco_ look at me!"

Sleep-swollen grey eyes peeked open, squinting blearily against the light, taking in the countenance of the boy above him before rolling over.

"You look normal to me…" He grumbled, already dozing back off.

"I know!" It took Draco's sleep addled brain nearly a full minute to process that, but when it finally registered he sat up so fast their foreheads nearly collided.

"What… I… How… Merlin…" Draco's eyes were wide, a careful finger brushing over Harry's cheek. Where there had been deep, angry gashes the day before, only a mesh of vague pink lines remained, soft and tender with new flesh. Draco cupped Harry's face in his hand, turning it back and forth, examining the skin with unconcealed wonder. The only scar tissue to be found was a long, pale line where Draco assumed the final piece of glass had dragged through, just beneath the skin.

"I don't understand. Dumbledore said we couldn't use magic… how…?"

Draco's eyes darted from Harry's cheek to shining green eyes, his own widening as a thought sparked in his mind. Draco looked down, eyes scanning the expanse of forearm left bare in Harry's apparent haste. Harry's gaze followed.

"Oh my God…" Harry breathed, turning his arm so he could see all the way around. Not even a shadow of a bruise could be found.

"Draco… I've never healed that fast before. Not even _with_ magic." Harry sounded awed, if not a little apprehensive. Draco did not respond, his mind whirling with possibilities. _'Could Dumbledore have changed his mind?'_ he wondered. _'Maybe he realized how stupid it was to punish Harry when he hadn't done anything. What else could it be?' _Barring Dumbledore's intervention, Draco couldn't think of any other logical explanation for Harry's unusually quick recovery. Apart from the numbing salve, there hadn't really been anything much that they could do for Harry; even the weak healing salves were too powerful to break the barrier Dumbledore had somehow put up. The bruises hadn't received any special treatment at all. In fact, he hadn't even known about them until… no. Draco stared at the unmarred skin, face going slack as realization slowly dawned.

The bruises _had _received special treatment… just not in the medical sense. Draco looked back to the pink lines etched across Harry's cheek, brow furrowing with thought.

"Harry… Harry, lay down. I want to try something…"

Harry tensed for a moment as gentle yet insistent hands pushed him onto his back, Draco's face hovering close over his own. He forced himself to relax, though, breathing in Draco's intent, letting it calm him. Dazedly Harry realized that the deep, wild smell he had come to associate with Draco was actually the scent of the other boy's magic, ebbing and flowing, unseen but palpable in the air all around them. He breathed in deeply once more, letting it fill his lungs, his breath hitching as Draco's tongue unexpectedly swiped across his cheek.

"Draco? What… what are you doing?"

Harry squirmed, heat suffusing his cheeks and burning down the sides of his throat. Draco did not bother answering, instead placing a gentle kiss on the new flesh, following it with another careful lick, brow furrowed with concentration. '_Please… please go away…' _he fervently prayed, repeating it like a mantra in his mind. Beneath him, Harry twitched, hands resting awkwardly on Draco's shoulders. The heat of embarrassment was beginning to melt into a strange, warm tingle beginning in his cheek, building and growing until it began to trickle down his throat, pooling in the very center of his chest. The heat was somehow strange and familiar all at once, similar to the flame of passion they had shared, yet deeper somehow, overwhelming, and at the same time shockingly tender. Seconds ticked by like minutes in Harry's mind, the sheer intensity of it disorienting him so that his questions died before they could ever reach his lips. The trail of warmth pulsing from cheek to chest was expanding steadily with each subsequent pass of Draco's mouth, tremors of heat escaping to chase down his arms and all the way to his toes like invisible bolts of lightning.

"Draco… what's… happening…?" Harry gasped, voice edged with panic, fingers tightening around pale shoulders.

"Shhh… hold still. Just trust me…"Draco's voice was calm and reassuring, lips brushing skin with each word. It did little to reassure Harry though, his whole body jerking as the smoldering sparks seemed to explode into an inferno in his veins, burning slowly from the inside.

"Stop… stop…" Harry gasped. Draco recoiled as the pain stabbed through their link, Harry jerking away so violently he tumbled to the floor, hand clasped over his cheek.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry demanded, voice cracking with shock, confusion and a hint of anger. Cautiously, he tried to get to his feet once more, but found his legs were far too shaky for that. Draco watched dumbly for a moment before it occurred to him to offer the other boy a hand back onto the bed. Harry still had not removed the hand covering his cheek.

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't know that would happen. I just thought…"

But Draco was too consumed with the desperate need to know whether or not his theory had been correct to worry about silly things like completing sentences. Harry forewent his hand, looking instead to the night table for support as he made the move from the floor to the edge of the mattress.

"Can I…?"

Draco pressed, hand already reaching to move Harry's away.

"Draco? Honestly, what's gotten into you?" Harry made to move away, but stilled when Draco's hand brushed his own, fingers curling around his and slowly drawing their joined hands away and exposing his cheek.

Draco's eyes were so wide and incredulous as they stared at Harry's cheek that he couldn't help but try to cover it up once more. Draco's clammy fingers tightened around his own.

"I can't believe it," he breathed reverently, brushing a thumb across Harry's cheek. "I can't… I knew… I knew they were strong but-"

"What are you talking about!" Harry pulled away, frustration and self-consciousness finally getting the better of him. "Would you just tell me-"

"You have to see! I can't believe it…" Draco pulled Harry towards the bathroom in an awkward tumble, the blankets tangling around them and tripping up their feet until the deranged Slytherin managed to kick himself free, dragging Harry the few remaining steps.

"Look! _Look_! I can't believe…"

And then Harry could do nothing _but_ look, his eyes glued instantly to his glassy reflection, hand flying incredulously to the gashes that should have been there but weren't. The pink lines were gone. So was any hint of the black eye. In fact, other than a razor thin line of paler-than-normal skin, there was not a single trace to hint that anything out of the ordinary had occurred at all.

XxX

The metal frames of Harry's glasses clinked softly as they were unceremoniously dropped on the table, impatient fingers trying to massage away the knot of frustration building behind his eyes. Harry squinted at the tome spread out before him, its blurred pages fueling his aggravation even further. Not that the words said anything useful anyhow. Harry barely managed to bite back a growl as he slammed the book shut with a satisfying thud, pushing it away to join the piles of worthless texts covering the shadowed table he sat at in the farthest back corner of the library.

"Good think Pince didn't see that. If she chewed you out for slamming the doors, just imagine what she'd have in store for you for slamming the books."

Despite the warm voice, the jolt of remembered-heat that Draco's hand on his shoulder inspired still made Harry tense. Grey eyes shot him a worried look, but much to Harry's thankfulness the Slytherin made no comment on the matter.

"I've brought some more books," Draco sat the small pile he was holding next to Harry.

"Are these ones useful, at least?" Harry bit back, instantly regretting his snark when he saw the hurt look in Draco's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I just… maybe we could do this another day? I'm just feeling…"

"It's alright." Draco cast a furtive look about before kneeling down beside Harry's chair, running a soothing hand through the messy black mane. Harry shivered at the touch, but did not pull away; as unnerving as the sparks of heat were, they did ease the bundle of tension coiling inside him.

"So what are these for?" Harry slipped his glasses back on, picking up the book on the top of the pile, surprised to find it was a Muggle psychology text.

Harry snorted. Draco bristled.

"I'll have you know that we've exhausted the medical wizarding texts without even a mention of medical depression. These were all that were left."

On the table, the unwanted books began to shuffle around, drifting unnoticed back to their rightful shelves.

"Doesn't this seem a bit excessive? We've been looking at medical books for nearly three hours trying to find something about this depression thing. Besides, I thought we were here to research the… you know." Harry touched a finger to the bandage on his cheek, and though he knew that it was there merely to keep up appearances, it made Draco cringe nonetheless.

"I told you, there's only one book in the whole library that even mentions the rings, and I've already read it cover to cover. It's only got about a paragraph about them, and it doesn't say anything about what's been happening. I'm going to have to get permission to floo back to the Manor and see if the book I read about them in when I was younger is still there."

Harry nodded grumpily, flipping dispassionately through the index.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I had no idea-"

"Wait… wait! Here it is!" Harry straightened up, skimming his finger across to find the page number. "Wow, they've got a whole chapter on it in here."

Draco quickly pulled up a chair as Harry flipped to the page, dark and light heads bumping lightly together as they bent close over the book and read:

_Depression is a mental illness in which a person experiences deep, unshakable sadness and diminished interest in nearly all activities. People also use the term depression to describe the temporary sadness, loneliness, or blues that everyone feels from time to time. In contrast to normal sadness, severe depression, also called major depression, can dramatically impair a person's ability to function in social situations and at work. People with major depression often have feelings of despair, hopelessness, and worthlessness, as well as thoughts of committing suicide._

Draco felt Harry tense beside him, worriedly glancing over to see the other boy biting his lip nearly hard enough to bleed. Sneaking a hand under the table, he gently laced the clenched, sweaty fingers with his own. When he looked back to the book, his eyes caught in the middle of a paragraph farther down the page:

…_These findings suggest that vulnerability to depression and bipolar disorder can be inherited. Adoption studies have provided more evidence of a genetic role in depression. These studies show that children of depressed people are vulnerable to depression even when raised by adoptive parents. In addition, genes may also influence depression by causing abnormal activity in the brain. Studies have shown that certain brain chemicals called neurotransmitters play an important role in regulating moods and emotions. Neurotransmitters involved in depression include norepinephrine, dopamine, and serotonin. Research in the 1960s suggested that depression results from lower than normal levels of these neurotransmitters in parts of the brain. Support for this theory came from the effects of antidepressant drugs, which work by increasing the levels of neurotransmitters involved in depression._

Harry slammed the book shut so abruptly Draco couldn't help but jump, watching in shock as Harry glanced surreptitiously about before whispering the counter charm to undo the book's anti-theft spells. Before he could even think to ask Harry what he was doing, the Gryffindor shoved the book in his bag and very nearly ran from the library.

It was unsettling to automatically know without doubt that Harry was in the Room of Requirement. It was even more unsettling that Draco could feel that Harry wanted to be left alone. He did not see the Gryffindor again at all on Sunday. Monday, likewise, passed by much the same: the wild-haired Gryffindor was strangely absent from Potions, and to Draco's growing unease, lunch and dinner passed by equally Harry-free as well. Long hours ticked painfully by as Draco lay in his room that night, waiting anxiously for some change in the link, or the knock at his door that would signal Harry's arrival. Neither ever came. On Tuesday afternoon after classes, Draco received Dumbledore's hesitant permission to allow him home for a few hours under the pretense of checking up on the Manor and retrieving a few personal items that Draco had been wanting for. Once inside, Draco barely allowed himself a moment to feel nostalgic before he began tearing through the library, searching methodically through book after book until he found the one he recalled, grabbing a few trivial objects from his room and cramming them all in his bag before hurriedly flooing back to the school. Harry wasn't at dinner that night either.

Late on Thursday night, Draco woke abruptly, jerking upright on the couch in the Slytherin Common Room and glancing dazedly around the room. Something had changed. Something with Harry had changed. Draco was on his feet before the cloud of sleep had even cleared from his eyes, feeling far too uneasy from Harry's extended, unannounced absence to even bother trying to figure out exactly what was different. Draco grabbed his cloak and the book he'd been reading, toeing on his shoes and absently running a hand through the hair he hadn't bothered to spell into place for days. Silently, stealthily, he made his way through the darkened halls and empty passages that would lead him to the seventh floor of the castle and, finally, the Room of Requirement. What he was not aware of, though, was that as quiet and as careful as he was, a pair of round iridescent eyes were following him on fur padded paws, observing from the shadows.

Draco's first thought upon opening the door to the Room of Requirement was to silently wonder why it hadn't bothered to clean itself; it was a disaster. Open books covered nearly every inch of floor space, interspersed with empty bottles of pepper-up potion and a couple of empty plates. Wading through the mess, it occurred to Draco just what it was about Harry that had finally changed after four days of absence; Harry was asleep. Draco's brow furrowed as he sat down on the floor beside where Harry was curled up cat-like atop a nest of wadded up, ink-stained parchment, quill pen still in hand. Picking up the closest book, Draco was surprised to find it was a compilation of medicinal potion recipes. Beside it stood a stack of no less than twelve of its subsequent editions. Draco's shock only continued to rise as each book in reach proved to be either medical or psychological in nature, wizarding and Muggle alike. A glance at the parchment Harry was using as a pillow seemed to be some sort of ingredient list. Draco wasn't sure why it made his chest hurt so much to know that Harry had spent days locked away all alone, working night and day to learn as much about depression as possible, but before he could catch himself unwanted tears were burning behind his eyes, threatening to escape. Carefully removing the quill from Harry's limp fingers, Draco nudged Harry over until he could get an arm under the other boy's back, lifting him up and carrying him towards the newly-appeared bedroom. As the door clicked shut behind them, Draco heard the soft rustle of magic as books began to stack themselves neatly into appropriate piles, the parchment sorting itself out and rolling itself up, the empty plates and bottles clearing themselves away.

Harry barely stirred as Draco deposited him on the bed, the Slytherin sitting carefully down beside him. The strangest feeling submerged Draco as he removed Harry's glasses and put them aside, a sort of warm, tingling ache in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

"Oh, Harry. What've you done to me? I knew you'd changed me, but this is ridiculous. If only you were awake to see me right now. You lock yourself away for four days and I'm reduced to what? A useless bundle of nerves too caught up thinking and worrying and missing you to even spare a moment to do an anti-wrinkle charm on my robes. I haven't bothered to do much more than wash and brush my hair in days. Not that you look much better, mind."

Draco smiled to himself, gently rubbing away an ink smudge from Harry's cheek with his thumb.

"Merlin, I can't even remember the last time I tormented first-years. This really has gotten out of hand. The center of my universe has switched from me to you, and I can't even imagine changing it back. I wouldn't want to. That really is quite some magic you have there, Harry Potter," he whispered incredulously, bringing Harry's hand to his lips and gently kissing the ink streaked palm. Harry never had gotten the hang of writing with a quill.

Draco was so caught up in his contemplative daze that he was startled to feel Harry's fingers curl around the side of his face, gently cupping it in his hand. Grey eyes flew open to find Harry was looking up at him groggily, more asleep than awake and smiling dreamily.

"You were right. It's all… just like you said," Harry yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open. "I found some recipes for a few different potions. I already have a few of the ingredients too, but we'll have to get into the storage room to see if Snape's got the rest." Harry was quickly sinking back into sleep, his words so slurred with exhaustion that Draco couldn't help but smile. Just then Harry sounded about six instead of sixteen, face softened with sleep and eyes impossibly big without his glasses.

"You can tell me all about it tomorrow morning, alright?" Draco caught Harry's hand as it began to limply slide back down towards the bed, holding it in his own.

"Stay here?" Harry murmured, fighting to keep his eyes open and failing miserably.

"Could I ever decline an invitation like that?" Draco replied, watching as sleep finally reclaimed the boy beside him. For a moment, Draco considered going and getting one of the books in the main room, or looking over Harry's ingredient lists. After all, Draco's only knowledge of depression was the tiny snip of conversation he'd overheard back at the Manor all those years ago. In the end, though, Draco decided that too could wait for the next morning, silently cursing himself as his emotions once more got the better of him and he curled up beside Harry beneath the blankets.

* * *

_The information on depression is taken directly from Encarta Encyclopedia_


	32. The Truth About the Rings

**_Author's Note: _**Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all of you! And, what better present to give to you than some highly demaned answers, hmm? I hope you're all having a wonderful holiday season, and enjoy the chapter. Also, don't forget to review! All I want for my birthday (which was on the 23rd) and Christmas this year is some lovely feedback from you, my much-loved readers!

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke the next morning to an empty embrace in a cold bed in the Room of Requirement. Despite the sharp spike of concern that wedged itself in his chest at this realization, the Slytherin was sluggish in hauling himself from the bed. Sleep deprivation made his limbs lethargic, and his body seemed to protest every move he made to crawl from beneath the covers in order to hunt once more for his renegade Gryffindor, especially when a glance at a nearby clock revealed it was only five till nine. Until he recalled that it was Friday, not Saturday, and it quickly became "_already nearly nine_!" in his mind instead. This knowledge helped to spur him on somewhat, though as he stepped into the main room he began to seriously doubt either of them would be attending lessons that day. 

Harry was already through the better part of a clean roll of parchment, hunched over a potions book, scanning furiously and pausing every few moments to make a note of something. Despite his worry, Draco couldn't help but be a little impressed by Harry's passion and dedication.

"Harry?"

No answer.

"Harry, I need to talk to you."

Still no answer. Draco moved closer, crouching down on the floor beside him.

"_Harry_? Are you listening?"

The lightest brush of pale fingers against matted black hair was enough to finally break the Gryffindor from his daze with a jolt, ink sloshing over the rim of the bottle to stain spotted fingers even darker.

"Draco! You're awake already? I hope I didn't disturb you. I tried to be quiet…" He trailed off, turning back to his book and cursing under his breath as he discovered a few stray drops of ink had landed on the parchment he'd been writing on.

"No, you didn't disturb me. I was surprised you were up already and thought I'd come see what you were doing. Are you sure you don't want to sleep a little longer? I'm sure you'd feel better."

Harry snorted, shaking his head.

"I'll feel better once I've got this potion. I've almost got this all figured out, then we can get into Snape's storage room tonight and get the rest of the ingredients. If we start brewing straight away, the first potion'll be ready by tomorrow night."

Draco frowned, touching Harry's shoulder carefully. This time he didn't seem to even so much as notice.

"But Harry, what about classes? You haven't been all week; you'll fall behind."

The soft scratching of quill against parchment paused momentarily as Harry thought.

"This is more important." He quickly concluded. And, in a strange way, Draco found he begrudgingly agreed. A thought suddenly occurred to Draco.

"Harry, I wanted to talk to you about something. Dumbledore let me go back to the Manor for a few hours on Tuesday. I… I found the book."

"What book?"

Harry didn't even pause in his writing for a moment. Draco bit his tongue to keep the surge of annoyance from barreling through the link at the other boy.

"The one I told you about. The one I learned about the rings in."

"Oh. That's nice."

Draco gritted his teeth, annoyance threatening to draw him into old habits.

"Yes, it is. It says a lot of interesting things; nothing concrete about our particular situation, but enough that I think I know what's happening, though."

"Mm hmm."

Draco didn't know how, but he could literally feel that Harry wasn't listening.

Harry was surprised when soft, pale fingers closed around his own, his vision straining for a moment as he tried to really focus on something besides letters and words for the first time in days.

"Draco, what are you doing?"

Harry watched as those fingers pried his own apart, stealing the quill from between them and setting it aside. Next was the parchment from his lap, carefully rolled up and placed beside the quill. The book was marked and closed, then likewise put to the side.

"Harry, all you've done nonstop since Sunday is read, and research, and copy down instructions and ingredients. You're a mess, I doubt you've eaten properly, you must be exhausted, and I've something important to tell you about. Something you were very interested in. The rings, remember? I found out more about them, and I think I might know what's happening."

"What? Really?" Harry's mind struggled to focus on the words, the potions momentarily forgotten in light of Draco's words and his own remembered unease over Sunday morning's incident. For a moment, his cheek stung with remembered heat, his fingers unconsciously brushing across it as if to remind himself it had already passed.

"The book was a little vague. I already told you that they let us feel what the other is feeling, and how far apart we are and if one of us is in trouble. But apparently there are rare cases where the individual innate magic of each of the people is so strong that it amplifies the rings' power, and instead of just knowing how much distance is between us, we can actually tell where the other person is. It also means we can block the link, apparently without even meaning to. Clever bit of magic, really, and probably helpful in the long run, considering we feel each other's emotions so strongly."

Harry frowned, recalling the time on Valentine's day that Draco had blocked him out. Somehow it didn't seem too clever to him.

"The next part is where it gets even vaguer, unfortunately. The book said that out of these unusual cases, there are even rarer instances. Before I go on though, you've got to promise not to take anything I say badly, alright? I'm just telling you exactly what the book said. Do you promise?"

Uncertain what to make of this statement, Harry nodded nonetheless.

"It said that… well, it said that it's really rare but that some people already have a slight natural bond. Nothing like the kind with the rings, just a sort of gut-level connection. For instance, say, knowing that person's going to show up a second before they do, or finding yourself running into them no matter how hard you try not to. A lot of pairs with the natural bond also find themselves sometimes knowing something about the other when there's no way they could. Also… apparently, most of the recorded cases of natural bonds either absolutely despise each other, or … well.. or they love each other."

Harry flushed slightly, recalling all the seemingly random encounters he'd had with Draco in the darker part of their past that he'd assumed were either set up by teachers, or done purposely by Draco himself. Knowing it wasn't all intentional, well-plotted viciousness on the Slytherin's part was a startling, yet deeply reassuring revelation. Draco's growing anxiety, however, was not reassuring at all.

"Sometimes… when people with this sort of natural bond use the TenderHeart rings, it changes the way the rings are supposed to work. Instead of creating a new, artificial bond, it… it increases the natural connection instead. It does this by… well, it does this by bonding their innate magic together."

Harry stared blankly at Draco for a very long time, his mind working in backwards circles trying to process this information. When at last he spoke, his voice was a little too calm for Draco's liking; an angry Harry he knew how to deal with, but calm, thoughtful Harry was distinctly unnerving.

"So, are you telling me that our magic has actually been meshed together?"

"Well, I haven't got absolute, irrevocable evidence for it, but yes. I suppose that's what I'm saying."

"You _bound _our magic? Is it permanent?"

Draco cringed, feeling irrationally injured by the fact that Harry's first real question might imply he didn't want it to be permanent. The wary tone in Harry's voice wasn't helping matters any either. He pushed the thought away quickly though.

"I'm not sure. If not, it would at least take some time for the bond to diminish back to its original state. We'll always have the natural bond, though. It was there before we even met."

Harry's brow furrowed with thought.

"You say you haven't got any concrete evidence that that's what happened. What makes you so sure?"

"The overall strength of the bond is pretty startling on its own, but what really convinced me was the healing. I mean, think about it; Dumbledore put up a barrier so that any healing spells we cast rebounded, and all the strong healing ointments we tried dripped right off. People with magic automatically heal faster than Muggles, though, because of the innate magic we all have. The innate magic naturally helps healing from the inside, without having to cast any spells or anything, so Dumbledore's barrier couldn't stop your own innate magic from helping you heal. You said you've never healed that fast on your own before, but if our innate magic is bound, that means that my magic was helping heal you too. It got past Dumbledore's barrier because it was tied with yours, so it couldn't be blocked."

Harry set and reset his jaw.

"So… the kissing?"

Draco flushed, despite himself.

"By focusing on the areas, it directed where the magic was supposed to go, concentrating it in the places that needed it. The heat was the result of all the magic building up in such a small area. You felt it in your chest too because that's where the bond is centered."

"And the book told you all this?"

Draco coughed, fidgeting despite his very best efforts to resist.

"No, not as such. I looked into a couple different books on binding innate magic and the results. I guessed about the part with Dumbledore's barrier."

Harry nodded, trying to absorb all this.

"Harry, I swear I didn't know it would bond our magic. I'm sorry if-"

"Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"Do you regret it?"

Draco's heart beat harder in his chest than was normal, and he forced himself to swallow the knot of tension straining his jaw, trying to read Harry's emotions and failing. He decided it was probably better that way anyhow.

"No, I don't. I love you."

"Good. I don't see the problem then." The hard edge in Harry's voice faded, the tension coiling his muscles releasing slowly. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Draco's lips, letting relief flood him. Just because he hadn't been as obviously shaken as Draco didn't mean he wasn't secretly terrified; he'd just had more practice hiding it. Harry's mouth opened and closed a few times before a shy "Thank you" managed to escape.

Before Harry could escape back to his books, though, Draco pulled the smaller boy to him in a tight hug, pressing a fervent kiss to the matted, oily hair, heedless of the fact that it was badly in need of a wash. "What for?"

Harry tensed for a moment, eyeing his book longingly, but quickly found himself looking longingly into silver eyes instead, relaxing into the embrace.

"If I had to list all the reasons I was thankful to have you, I'd be here for another week filling scrolls."

Color rushed to Harry's face the moment the words left his mouth and pale lips curved into a soft, surprised smile in response.

"That's very sweet of you. However, I think it might be best to put any further list making aside for now in exchange for, perhaps, a shower? You're starting to look a bit like Snape."

Harry looked insulted, face twisting into a sour expression.

"Yes, definitely. You've got the greasy hair, the sallow skin, the dark rings under your eyes, and there! Just now you looked like a first year just exploded a cauldron full of skrewt intestines all over your precious potions texts."

Harry's jaw dropped with affronted shock, but Draco only used it as a distraction to roll the Gryffindor onto his back, pressing a kiss to those parted lips, letting his tongue dip teasingly inside. Harry's tongue was just beginning to get interested when Draco pulled away, helping Harry reluctantly to his feet.

"Tease." Harry complained, Draco already nudging him towards the washroom and the shower within.

"Perhaps. It seems it's been as long since you brushed your teeth as its been since you washed your hair, though, so as much as I've missed you, any further reacquainting will have to wait until later."

Draco had never seen a pout quite like the one directed at him just then, and it made him feel surprisingly tingly.

"Well, I suppose I might be due for a shower myself. Perhaps I could be persuaded to join you." The light sparked in Harry's eyes at that suggestion was startling in its intensity. "But afterwards we're going to eat some lunch, and then take a nap. If we're going to be up all night breaking school rules and brewing potions we're not supposed to, we're going to need our rest." Harry very nearly pounced.

XxX

Snape's storage room was dank, dark, dingy and exceedingly helpful. Within ten minutes Harry and Draco managed to find everything they were looking for, though Snape's meticulous organization skills and the cover of the Invisibility Cloak certainly helped matters along. Draco was vaguely surprised when he looked at the ingredients list that none of the potions contained lavender, which he knew from experience was very helpful at settling Harry down when he was feeling unpleasant. He did not say anything, though; after all, lavender was just some silly Muggle herb his mother had had a fondness for. Certainly professional Potion Masters like the ones who wrote those books knew of far better ingredients.

For the first time in months, there was no Quidditch that Saturday. Instead, Harry and Draco stayed locked away inside the Room of Requirement, stirring and adjusting temperatures, chopping and straining. Professional potion making, Draco concurred shortly after midnight, was exhausting work. The look on Harry's face when they finally finished was worth it though, as was the thought of how things would finally be if the potion did indeed do as it promised. Draco uncorked the vial, handing it to the smiling, anxious boy beside him.

"Well… here goes…"


	33. The Problem with Potions: part 1

Hello, all! Don't worry, this story hasn't been abandoned! It will be completed, just stay with me. I've had a lot going on in my life recently, from a boyfriend I was willing to give up everything for who ended up cheating on me, to tons of school work, to friend problems, to trying to find a roommate to live with for the next year, and more than I could ever even list. Crazy stuff. Sometimes I feel like I could give Harry a run for his money when it comes to drama.So, this chapter is only part one of the potions stuff. I wanted it all in one chapter, but I figured this is better than nothing, and I've finals right now! Also, chapter is un-betaed, so sorry in advance for any problems! Love you all, and thanks for reading!

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Seconds ticked into excruciating minutes, minutes melting together until a quarter of an hour passed with the empty phial sitting on the table between them. A nearby clock provided the only sound besides their breathing, the slow, measured ticks grating on Draco's nerves until he could not wait any longer.

"Well?" He prodded, smiling at Harry hopefully. After a moment he elaborated. "Did it work? Do you feel any different?"

Harry's eyes were downcast, his voice weighted with barely contained disappointment. "Not yet. Maybe it takes a little longer, though. It said to take it again every twenty four hours, so I guess we'll see."

They ended up falling asleep waiting, tumbling into a curled jumble of limbs on the sofa, limp with exhaustion. They slept late, but managed to make their first public appearance together in over a week that afternoon at lunch in the Great Hall. Heads turned as they entered, the noise level dropping to a great, humming whisper. Draco headed towards the Slytherin table, Harry veering towards Gryffindor before coming to an abrupt halt. They were all staring at him. No, not staring. G_laring_. Hermione stood, her chair making a shrill scrape against the floor as it pushed back behind her. Her eyes were dangerously dark and cold as she stared him down, her mouth just beginning to open when Draco caught Harry by the elbow.

"Come on, Harry." Draco whispered, thankful that at least Harry's feet were feeling cooperative. Harry's head, however, remained turned towards the bushy haired girl settling back into her seat, only just realizing that the flaming red head sitting silently next to her was, in fact, Ginny. There was an empty seat to Hermione's right; apparently Ron was still in the hospital. _"Lousy, stinking git,"_ Harry thought bitterly. _"He's been in the hospital nearly as long as I was last fall."_ Sure Ron had looked bad off, but surely Draco hadn't knocked him around _that_ bad. Harry flopped despondently into the chair beside Draco at the Slytherin table, hundreds of Gryffindor eyes boring into him. Harry's eyes began to sting despite himself, a slowly growing knot of anger seething in his chest.

Harry was so busy fighting the urge to march right up to Hermione and scream himself hoarse, and then maybe run back to the Room of Requirement afterwards and cry, that he didn't notice the concerned faces all around him, or the way the Slytherin table had fallen into silence.

"Those lousy, stinking, two-faced goody-goody traitors," Pansy hissed dangerously, eyes narrowed to icy slits as she glared over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table. Harry looked up at her in surprise. "They act so high and mighty, but how dignified do you think they'll be after I take each and every one of their wands and shove them up-"A quick elbow in the side silenced her, Draco surreptitiously throwing her a meaningful look before turning back to Harry, face softening.

"Hey, don't worry about them, alright? They'll come around." Pansy snorted. Draco kicked her under the table. "You know how stubborn Gryffindors can be, especially in matters of pride." Draco stroked a hand through that soft, black hair, half way between a caress and a playful ruffle. His face grew serious, though, as he noticed that despite the smile, Harry's eyes looked unnaturally bright. Leaning in close, he whispered, "That potion still not working?"

Harry shook his head. Draco frowned.

"Maybe it's a dud. Let's give it a couple of days. If you still aren't feeling any better by Thursday, we'll get the ingredients for the next potion and brew it Friday night, alright?"

Harry nodded, turning sullenly back to his soup. While he was distracted, Draco leaned back over to Pansy, voice a low whisper, "Now, you were saying something about shoving Gryffindor wands somewhere?" Pansy laughed despite herself.

XxX

The last class on Friday afternoon had barely let out when Harry and Draco met up inside the Room of Requirement, double checking books and scrolls before setting potion number two to brew. This potion, much to Draco's relief, was markedly simpler than the previous one, and it finished brewing shortly after eleven that night. Harry watched silently from astride a nearby chair as Draco strained the dark, steaming liquid into a phial, checking the parchment one final time before casting a cooling charm and handing it to Harry.

Harry sniffed it cautiously, grimacing at the terrible stench. "Small price to pay, I suppose," Harry lifted the phial, noticing that the contents were already beginning to thicken. "Cheers." He tipped it back in one go, barely managing not to gag as it slithered down his throat. "Ugh, that's wretched!" Harry made a face, eyes watering. Draco pulled up a chair, sitting and taking Harry's hand in his, their rings clicking softly.

"Feel any different?"

Harry blinked a few times, his brow furrowing before his eyes finally lifted to meet Draco's.

"Yeah, actually… I do feel a little different. A little… better maybe. I feel nice." He smiled, leaning in and pressing his forehead against Draco's, their noses bumping. Draco smiled back, but couldn't ignore a growing suspicion when the warm shivers he'd come to associate with the rings chased up his back, contentment blossoming in his own chest as well.

They woke early the next morning, tumbling from bed and into their robes. They snuck down flight after flight of stairs, peeking out the vast wooden doors of the castle just as the sun broke over the twisted, gnarly trees of the Forbidden Forest. There was a heavy sheen of frost on the grass, white and smooth and perfect, setting off little rainbow halos when the first rays of early morning sun touched it. A chill wind whipped around them as they got their brooms from the shed, sudden gusts carrying away the little puffs of smoke their breath made.

All was silent as they took to the air, the birds still huddled in their nests, the school barely beginning to stir. The quiet was absolute and all encompassing as they took to the air, yet terribly intimate as well, and neither dared to break its spell. Draco felt a warm swell of excitement growing in his chest as they rose, soaring side by side through the air, flying higher, faster, until all that surrounded them was an ocean of blue, the pitch a glistening sea of green below as the early morning frost melted away. They were like birds in flight; swooping and weaving, diving, chasing each other round and round till Draco couldn't help but smile. The air barely whispered as it parted for them. Draco sped ahead, tucking himself down and rolling on his broom, dipping before angling straight up towards the clouds. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes dancing with laughter, just in time to see Harry's go wide with panic before rolling back in his head, fingers going limp as he slipped backwards off the broom and into empty air.

"**_NO_!**"

It ripped through the silence, splintered it, reverberated off of every surface, shattering and jarring Draco to action. Adrenaline exploded in his blood, sending him diving after Harry's plummeting form. Absolute terror swallowed him instantly, cold and sick, making his hands shake where they gripped the handle. Green eyes fluttered open, dazed at first, then darting around frantically as realization dawned. Draco felt as if he was going to be sick.

"**_Draco!"_**

Harry's voice cracked. Draco felt the sound echoing through every bone in his body. Harry was reaching for him, thrashing in the air, panic evident. It was worse, so much worse, seeing that look of terror, watching Harry's fingers clawing the air, feeling the vertigo, every aching, racing heartbeat echoed in his own chest. The ground, beautiful and pure only moments earlier, now seemed to be stretching its cold, vicious fingers ever closer. Draco didn't know it was possible to go that fast on a Nimbus 2001.

They seemed to grab each other at the same moment; Harry's arms winding round Draco's waist and clinging for dear life just as Draco pulled him astride the broom, nearly crushing the dark head against his chest as he pulled out of the dive, still easily a hundred meters above the ground. They hovered there for what could have been hours, hearts beating painfully hard and fast between them, gaping open mouthed for air as they clung to each other.

"Merlin… Harry… What happened? How..?" Draco panted, pulling back to look him in the face, only just realizing Harry's glasses had gotten lost somewhere along the way.

Harry pressed his face into the sharp curve of Draco's shoulder, arms impossibly tightening further. It was several long minutes before Harry regained his breath enough to whisper, "So… so dizzy."

"I don't understand. Was it memories? A flashback? Did you remember something?" Draco gently brushed the hair off Harry's forehead, finding it soaked with cold sweat.

Harry shook his head, fingers curling into tight fists as a new wave of dizziness hit him, head lolling to knock lightly against Draco's.

"No. It wasn't any of those things. I was feeling fine. Amazing. I was really happy. Then just…. Out of nowhere. I still feel it; not as bad as before, but like everything's sort of tilting back and forth. Sort of like… I don't know… sort of like I'm underwater, caught in the tide. I just feel so strange…"

Harry's fingers loosened around the handfuls of Draco's robes, the adrenaline draining quickly away and leaving him feeling exhausted. Draco's brow furrowed, looking around nervously. Carefully he flew them back down to the ground, leaving their brooms where they fell and leading Harry back towards the secret passage under the broom shed. Harry leaned heavily against him, swaying dangerously on his feet from time to time. Draco couldn't help but think that maybe… just maybe it might have something to do with the potion.

By the end of the week Draco's hypothesis regarding the adverse effects of potion number two was proved correct, as far as he was concerned. Harry had felt increasingly dizzy throughout the following days, the worst of it usually about six hours after having taken the bloody concoction. It was only Thursday and already Harry had nearly died at least a dozen times, the broom accident by far the clearest, and most terrifying, in Draco's mind. Also, as far as he could tell, there didn't really seem to be any positive effects, either. Harry seemed just as miserable as ever, if not more so. Draco didn't bother to wait for Friday to roll around. That night, despite the fact that he had a History of Magic essay due first thing in the morning, he left Harry in the Room of Requirement and snuck out to get the new ingredients, and then proceeded to make the potion himself. After an hour of peeling and measuring, and much pleading from Harry, he allowed the Gryffindor to help with some of the chopping. And, though it was a little more uneven than Draco would have preferred, he added the lizard intestines all the same. He waited until Harry wasn't looking before adding three drops of vanilla, purely for flavor. His reputation was mangled enough as it was.

"Alright, it's all finished," Draco sighed, exhausted, handing the phial to Harry. "Now, you want to drink that all, and then go straight to sleep, alright?"

Harry looked up at him curiously. "You aren't staying?"

"I'm afraid I can't tonight. I've got five feet of parchment due to Binns first thing in the morning and I've only got three written. I'll be down in the library all night." Draco kissed his forehead gently, grabbing his book bag and heading towards the door.

"Oh, alright. I'll see you at breakfast, then?" Harry called after him, the door already closing.

"Better make it lunch. I'll still be working come breakfast, I'm sure! Night!"

The door clicked shut.

"Goodnight."

Harry looked at the phial, its contents already starting to cool. He pulled the stopper out and took a cautious sniff, surprised at the pleasantly sweet smell. His chest tightened. Draco had added something to make it taste better. Harry couldn't help but smile, though at the same time he felt his throat begin to tighten as well. It had been a while since he'd slept _without _Draco, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Tipping the bottle back, he swallowed down the potion and headed to bed.

Down in the library, Draco was vaguely aware of a slight stirring in his chest, but he was too absorbed in his essay on the fall of the early Warlock Empire and its effects on Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike to take much notice. It was, in fact, nearly nine the next morning before Draco took notice of much of anything, and then it was only to realize he'd smeared the last line of his essay when he'd fallen asleep on it sometime earlier and now had only five minutes to run halfway through Hogwarts before he'd lose a whole twenty points for tardiness. He made it. Barely. He then spent the entire class period fantasizing about a warm shower and a long nap.

Several flights of stairs above where Draco had woken after spending the night pouring over books and parchment, Harry Potter woke at almost exactly the same time, alone. He tumbled from bed and into his robes, grabbed his book bag and made a dash for Transfiguration. He set foot inside the classroom just as the bell finished sounding. Professor McGonagall looked up from the papers on her desk to level a clearly displeased look in his direction, her wrinkled hands folding neatly together.

"Mr. Potter. You're late."

"I'm sorry, Professor. I-"

"You have also, if I recall correctly, been absent from my class for nearly a week." McGonagall snapped, eyes narrowing.

Harry found he couldn't speak for a moment, sweat prickling the back of his neck as all eyes in the class turned to him.

"Y…yes, Professor. I… I'm sorry. I've been sick."

"I am to assume, then, that you have a note from Madam Pomfrey?"

It took Harry a moment to realize that his hands had begun to shake, his skin growing hot and clammy beneath his robes.

"No, Professor."

"I see. I suppose Mr. Malfoy is more suited to attending your maladies than our trained medi-witch."

Harry could literally feel his skin flushing red. A sickeningly familiar laugh came from somewhere to his right; Ron. Ron was here, out of the hospital, laughing at him. They were all laughing. How had she known about Draco? How did they all know?

Draco must have told.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," a chorus of 'no's echoed from the Gryffindors. "For skipping classes and lying to a Professor."

"But I-"

"10 more points," The Gryffindors Harry could see from his peripheral vision looked ready to kill. "Now, take your seat before you waste any more of the class's time."

Harry moved towards the empty seat beside Blaise.

"With your own house, Mr. Potter."

Harry froze, looking up at her incredulously. Even Blaise looked up at that, his usually calm features tightening. McGonagall had never separated them by house before. Sure enough, though, Harry looked over to see rows of Gryffindors to his right, all full but for one seat. In the very front row. Between Hermione and, sure enough, Ron.

"If you see fit to waste another moment of the class's time, Mr. Potter, I can guarantee you will find yourself in detention for the next month."

Harry was beyond the point of listening to her, though. All he could concentrate on was the empty seat, the unruly mop of red hair to the right, the bushy brown mane to the left. Unbidden his feet began to move towards the front row, closer and closer, even as he felt himself inwardly shrinking away. The air in the room felt too hot, his lungs burning as if there weren't enough oxygen. He could feel himself breathing faster, his pulse hammering in his ears. He felt light headed. Harry's shoulder accidentally bumped Ron as he sat down, his arm brushing Hermione's as he reached in his bag for parchment, quill and ink. They both bristled, and though Harry looked steadfastly ahead, he could feel their eyes boring into him.

Harry felt as if he were going to be sick.

How could Draco have told?

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Next chapter marks the beginning of the end, people. Almost there!

Psst... don't forget to review!


	34. The Problem with Potions: part 2

It has been almost a year since I updated this story. I'm sure most of you had to begun to think it was abandoned. And, to be honest, it almost was. I lost interest in the characters, in the story and almost in the Harry Potter genre altogether. And then today I wrote. This is a very short chapter, and it is not a nice chapter. I do not know when I will have time to write more. What I do know is that the passion is back and that I am ready to finish this story. I want to thank all of you who have stuck with this story. Your continued reviews have kept it in my thoughts, and it finally paid off.

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Draco was a smart boy, and it did not take him long to realize that something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. As Draco began the second round of his thorough search of the castle it occurred to him that Harry missing should not surprise him so much as it did. It seemed like lately Harry was always missing. Harry was always missing, or falling, or crying or finding himself in some kind of horrible danger. Draco remembered a time when this would have pleased him immensely, but that time seemed more like a distant dream than an actual memory, much like the days when his father spent hours training Draco in the proper execution of a Cruciatas. But then, Draco wasn't sure that his current predicament didn't feel like a dream as well. One of those horrible dreams where no matter how fast you run, or where you go or what you do the thing you're chasing is always just out of reach and the thing chasing you is always on your heels. Draco wasn't sure why he felt like something was chasing him, nor could he even vaguely imagine what it might be; all he could bring himself to care about was the thing he was chasing. Harry. Where the hell was Harry?

When Draco passed Ron on the steps to the Great Hall it took him a few moments to make the connection, but when he did he internally groaned. Ron was out of the hospital. Lovely. Bloody lovely. Harry was missing, wandering around or kidnapped or Merlin only knew what, with some crazy new potion in his veins that was doing Merlin only knew what, and now Ron was out of the hospital and probably ready for some good old-fashioned revenge. Beautiful.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he had actually been to a full day's worth of classes. He wondered vaguely when he would get the call to go to Dumbledore's office, or detention or whatever happened to students who stopped going to classes.

By his fourth thorough search of the castle Draco was beginning to curse things. Things like stairs, and too-tight shoes, and nosey portraits, as well as things like potions and mysterious homicidal people lurking around the school and magical binding rings that never communicated emotions or locations when you really needed it. All he knew was that Harry was around somewhere, and that Harry was very angry.

It took another full sweep of the castle for Draco to think maybe he should check the rest of the Hogwarts grounds. Harry never ventured outdoors by himself these days, but maybe whatever had Harry so upset was bad enough to drive him from the castle. It was nearing evening when Draco started off down the main path that would take him either over to the Pitch, down by the Lake or over towards Hagrid's hut and the Forbidden Forest. The sun was just beginning to dip into the blackness of the Lake when Draco reached the fork in the path and quickly decided to check the Pitch first. Given Harry's bad string of luck in relation to the Pitch lately it seemed like a natural first place to look. When the Pitch failed to yield any clues as to Harry's whereabouts Draco decided to try the Lake, though without any luck.

Draco noticed abruptly that it was getting very dark. Briefly he considered checking Hagrid's hut, but as far as Draco knew Harry had not spoken to the half-giant in months. Besides, his feet hurt and he was tired and he was sure Harry would turn up soon on his own. And so, utterly exhausted from a night of paper-writing and a day of useless searching, Draco trudged wearily down to the dungeons. All he wanted was to take off his horribly painful shoes and collapse into his wonderfully soft bed. He was too tired to worry about Harry anymore just then; if Harry were really in danger he would have been able to sense it through the bond. Instead, Harry was just angry and hiding, and Draco was so… so tired. He was so tired that even his school robes felt heavy on his shoulders and the door to his room seemed almost impossible to open. Finally, though, he managed to push his way in, only to end up face to face with Harry. At first it was hard for Draco to comprehend the fact that Harry was sitting irately on the trunk at the foot of his bed, barely a few steps away. After all the walking and looking and asking he'd done that day, Harry's furious green eyes burning into him was a reality beyond his grasp. So, Draco did what he'd planned to do anyway; he kicked off his shoes and collapsed into bed.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?"

Draco thought for a moment that the words had come out of his mouth. They seemed like the kind of words he should say, given the situation. But his face was buried in the pillow and he knew, logically, that his voice could not be that loud and angry and close behind him if his face was buried in a pillow. He managed to tilt his head just enough to look up at Harry.

"Excuse me?"

This managed to make Harry even angrier, if possible.

"I said, where the bloody hell have you been. I've been waiting for you all bloody day," Harry shouted.

This managed to wake Draco up a bit.

"I've been out looking for you all bloody day. I thought you were in trouble or something."

"I'm not your damsel in distress, Malfoy. Stop acting like I'm always in trouble-"

"You are always in trouble!"

Now Draco was beginning to lose his temper. He tried briefly to reign it in, but Harry's anger was feeding his own through the link, and Harry, unfortunately, knew just what to say to get under Draco's skin.

"I am not. You just like acting tough, like you're the big hero who saved Harry Potter's pathetic life."

"In case you forgot, I am the hero who saved your life, and a rather pathetic life it's turning out to be!"

Draco had a vague feeling deep down in his chest somewhere that that had not been a good thing to say, but he could not stop himself and Harry was not backing down.

"_Fuck_ you, Malfoy! I don't _fuck_ing need you. I know what you've been doing all along, so just take your cheap tricks and get the hell out of my life, you slimy git!"

This one phrase had too much in it for Draco to even try to process all at once. His first thought was that he couldn't remember ever hearing Harry say "fuck" before. It sounded so utterly dirty and wrong the way Harry spit it from between his teeth that it made the muscles in Draco's throat tighten. It also managed to push him the final step over the edge. At the end of the day he was still a Malfoy, possibly the last Malfoy, and no one ever spoke to a Malfoy like that.

"Without me you'd be worm-food by now, Potter. Your picture plastered all over the Daily Prophet and the sob-sob story of how poor ickle Potter couldn't even stand up to a Mudblood and a Weasel, or couldn't stay on his broom or couldn't even protect his sorry arse from some git in a mask. How dare you even think you can talk to me that way, and if you think you can throw me out of my own sodding room you're off your _fuck_ing rocker!"

Draco screamed. His face had gone bright red with anger, the blood vessel in his forehead looking as though it were about to burst and his eyes flashing. When he said "fuck" he delighted in the way Harry's eyes seemed to quiver, and he knew he'd put far more venom into it than the other boy could ever muster.

"That's right. Run back up to Gryffindor Tower with your tail between your legs and cry. Oh that's right; you aren't even welcome there anymore. Even your own house hates you."

"Yeah, because of you!" Harry screamed. Draco noticed that there actually were tears building in Harry's eyes.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Harry bristled.

"I'm not that stupid, Malfoy. I know you told everyone. I know you told them about us, and about the potions and me falling off the broom and everything. I know you told them everything! How could you? I actually trusted you! How could you do that?"

Harry sobbed, seemingly torn halfway between fury and heartbreak.

"You're completely nutters. You think I told anyone about that? You're nutters. Why do you think I would want anyone to know about any of _that_?"

The words struck Harry in a way that Draco hadn't even meant and effectively extinguished any anger Harry still felt. The weight of everything Draco had said came crashing down around Harry and he went very quiet. All Draco could do was stare. Chest heaving in anger, his veins so full of adrenaline that the sudden silence made him even angrier.

"_Just go away_! You're nothing but trouble, Potter. Just get out of here. Go. I don't ever want to see you again."

Draco wasn't sure when he'd stood up, just that he was pacing, and that if it weren't for issues of honor he really would have stormed out, just for something dramatic to do. He wished fervently they were in Harry's room instead so he could leave and slam the door. But instead, Harry just stood there looking at him for a long time, eyes cold and unreadable. When he finally spoke it was with a voice so low and cool and even that it hit Draco with the force of a physical blow.

"I don't know what to think or feel or believe anymore, Draco. Nothing makes sense. I… I can't feel you anymore, so I don't know whether or not you mean any of what you just said. But… if you want me to go, I'll go. And if you don't ever want to see me again, I'll try to arrange that too. I… I'm sorry if I made you really feel that way. I don't know what's happening, but I'm sorry I ruined this." Harry paused for a long moment.

"Goodbye, Draco."

And then Harry was gone and Blaise and Pansy were there instead, making him sit down. He knew they had questions but they did not ask. They didn't say anything, but by just being there they reminded him to breathe, to relax, to let the adrenaline evaporate enough for him to think and feel normally again. He realized he couldn't feel Harry. He realized he had just told Harry to get out of his life forever. He realized the things he had said. He realized that Harry had meant, actually meant, _goodbye_ goodbye. He realized that somehow one of them had severed the link and that at that very moment Harry was alone. Really, truly alone. Draco had no way of knowing where Harry was, or if he was in trouble. He'd left Harry alone and in doing so had my Harry vulnerable. Something clicked in Draco's mind at that word: _vulnerable_. The pieces started to fall together in his mind with a dawning sense of horror; somehow, somehow without meaning to, Draco had just done exactly what he'd been trying to protect Harry from all along, just what the mysterious man and Granger and Weasley and Snape and Charlie and everyone else had wanted and waited for.

_He had just unknowingly delivered Harry right into their hands._


	35. The Beginning of the End

Harry did not slam doors; the noise made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He wasn't sure why he hated it so much, only that it made him feel sheepish, like a child having a fit. Even when he slammed doors on accident, when he was in a hurry or when an open window made the door pull shut with a resounding 'thud,' he cringed and looked around apologetically, even if no one else was around to hear. To Harry, the sound of a door slamming was never a good thing, meaning something had either already gone horribly wrong, or it was about to. Either way, the sound of a door slamming always signaled to Harry that there was something to be wary of. Therefore, when the door to the Room of Requirement slammed harshly behind Harry without him so much as touching it, he knew he was in trouble.

The reaction was instant; turn, wand out, cast.

But Harry was still inhaling the breath that would have become his only defense when he was grabbed from behind, a wet rag shoved over his mouth and nose. Harry cried out as his wrist was twisted so hard it snapped, his wand slipping from his useless fingers. Tears burned Harry's eyes as he thrashed his head back and forth in an effort to identify his attacker. Through the rising sense of panic he realized that there was more than one assailant holding him, and that whoever they were, they were Disillusioned. Deprived of any magical means of escape Harry did the only other thing he could, he kicked and fought desperately against the attackers he could not see. The strong chemical stench from the rag made his eyes water and his head spin. He couldn't breathe. Harry could feel strong fingers biting into his wrists and ankles, and though he could not see where to aim he fought even harder. Each quick, shallow breath was drawing more of the potion fumes into his lungs and his hands and feet were beginning to feel numb. One of Harry's kicks came in contact with something solid where he could see nothing but air, and the wet crunch of bones breaking seemed deafening in the silence. The blow to the stomach that Harry received in return made him feel like his body was deflating, and the last thing he remembered before the potion took effect was the taste of blood in his mouth.

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Draco was panicking. Running and panicking. Draco, always cool and calm with plan ready, had hot, desperate tears streaming down his face as he panted and ran up flight after flight of stairs. He did not think. He did not rationalize. He just ran.

He ran until his lungs burned and ached, and ran some more until the burning and aching stopped. He ran and did not stop until he was inside the Room of Requirement, and then he fell to his knees.

The Room was empty. Actually empty. The scrolls, the potion ingredients, the sofa; all gone. The sanctuary that Harry and Draco had built together had disappeared, and Harry along with it. All that remained was a rag, wet with blood and a acrid potion smell that permeated the room. Draco shook his head slowly, his eyes wide, blank and unseeing. _No…no no no… no. _He mouthed the words but no sound escaped, his breath coming in fast little pants. Draco's balance swayed and he tipped forward, bracing himself on his hands, fingers closing around the rag and squeezing so hard that frothy red liquid dripped from his fingers. He screamed. He couldn't stop screaming. He didn't know what else to do. Harry was gone. They had Harry, and Draco didn't know where they were or what they were doing or even if Harry was still alive. _Harry Harry Harry. _Draco had begun to shake violently, muscles twitching so uncontrollably he could no longer hold himself upright and he fell to his side in a quivering, sobbing jumble. Draco's head hit the floor and stars danced behind his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He was dizzy and his head was throbbing. Draco's eyes swam with tears, which he tried to blink away furiously.

_This is my fault,_ he realized with a sick, sinking feeling in his chest. _I gave Harry to them._

As his vision slowly began to clear, Draco noticed that from here he could see something he had not seen before. A few feet away was a drop of blood, the surface tension still holding the liquid into a tight little ball that stood up from the floor. Draco crawled closer, watching as it collapsed into a tiny red puddle on the stone. He crawled anxiously further, searching frantically until he noticed another spot, followed by a thin red smear, possibly from a shoe. Draco crawled awkwardly forward, eyes wide and glassy as he followed the thin trail to the window. Pulling himself clumsily to his feet, he stared frantically out into the night. The Room of Requirement was easily several hundred meters above the ground, the spikes and spires of numerous lower towers pointing up at him mockingly. Below that were the flat roofs of the ground floor corridors and a courtyard. Draco's eyes strained in the dark, but found no sign of anything that might be Harry. The darkness was calm, quiet and absolute. Nothing seemed out of place. Draco cursed himself. _There's always something out of place. Think-look… what's different?"_ Draco tried desperately to remember the things his father had taught him about finding people who did not want to be found. Lucius had taught Draco many things in the years before Draco went to Hogwarts, perhaps in preparation for service to the Dark Lord, and perhaps simply for a future as a Malfoy. Draco had never been able to decide why his father felt the lessons necessary, but they still loomed in the back of his mind like painful, blood-filled nightmares, fear-drenched memories he tried to forget. They came flooding back, now, with a ease that made Draco feel ill. He remembered one afternoon in particular, and an old house elf his mother had caught stealing from the kitchen; after his father had tortured it for hours the elf had Disapparated in a foolish attempt to save its own life.

_Check the dark places first. The Hunted favor the false lull of security darkness gives them. In the dark, the Hunted hide in plain sight._

Lucius' cold voice still echoed in Draco's head and he was 6 years old again, lead through the dungeons in the mansion while his father taught him to hunt on an old, dying elf. The overwhelming smell of chloroform in the room was beginning to affect Draco, his vision swimming as he swayed slightly on his feet. Panic began to edge in, but he quickly stifled it, concentrating.

_Listen. What can you hear? Breathing? Foot steps? Can you hear his heart beat?_

Draco could feel his ears tingling from the silence, the distant hoot of an owl the only sound, besides his own irregular breathing. He was thankful that it was late and all students were either sleeping or silent.

_Do not use magic. Of all obstacles you may encounter, do not use magic in tracking. It clouds the air, disturbs the trail and reveals your own position._

Draco didn't realize he had very slowly begun to walk, his feet leading him from the room and down the hall, padding silently on the stone steps.

_What do you feel? Can you feel their magic? Can you feel their steps on the ground? Can you feel their fear? _

Draco jumped, as if waking from a trance. He _could_ feel it. He could feel the hard steps of many feet. He could hear knuckles pop as they hit solid flesh. He could smell blood and dark magic. The sensation began to fade quickly, and Draco snapped his eyes back shut, trying to focus on the feelings and cling to the trail.

_Where is it coming from? Feel the sounds and smells moving through the air. Feel for the vibrations._

The scent of blood grew stronger as Draco walked, eyes closed, feeling his way through the blackness. A faint, distant wail burned into Draco's ears, spiking his adrenaline and making him want to run. He didn't dare, though, for fear of losing the trail altogether. Instead he sped up as fast as he dared, bumping into a wall and stumbling down a staircase. These minor injuries meant nothing to Draco, though. He could feel it all getting stronger, the cruel laughter and Harry's desperate cries getting louder, The smell of blood and vomit, as well as the lingering smell of the potion. He was so close, he could hear the impact of a particularly harsh blow and the answering blood splatter against the floor. Draco's eyes jolted open, wand in hand. He was not prepared, though, for the sight in front of him.

The griffin statue reared high and proud as ever in its alcove, its stance both intimidating and noble as it eternally guarded its master's chambers. The stone eyes seemed to bore into Draco as he stared up at it dumbly.

_Damn… I stopped too soon. Or too far. It's got to be around here somewhere. There must be a hidden room somewhere in this corridor. _

Draco closed his eyes and focused as best he could, trying to lapse back into the trance-like state. He sniffed the air cautiously, strained his ears and touched the nearby wall. Everything was silent. Nothing moved or shimmered in the dark. He'd lost the trail. Draco swore, straining his ears once more.

At first, Draco was too shocked to realize that the answering cry of "_Help!" _had nothing to do with his tracking skills and everything to do with the fact that the only thing between Draco and rescuing Harry was a stone statue and the door to Dumbledore's office.

Draco leapt for the statue. "Ice Mice!"

Nothing.

Harry screamed again somewhere above him.

_Damnit. _"Lemon Drops!"

Nothing.

"Sherbet lemon. Sugar Quills. Fizzing Whizbees. _Fucking _Chocolate Frogs! Let me through!"

Draco sobbed as more cries and a chorus of muffled voices echoed down the staircase. falling to his knees. Draco lay flat on the floor, squirming and wriggling his way beneath the statue's wide, furled wings. The gap was small and jagged, but he pushed and squirmed resolutely through, the sound of Harry's screams making him desperate. By the time Draco reached the first step of the winding golden staircase, only his lower legs and feet were still out in the hall. He took a slow, shaky breath and angled his body up, preparing to drag himself the rest of the way through. A sharp grating sound froze him on the spot and the ground beneath him trembled; the staircase had begun to move. He tried frantically to shuffle backwards but found that no matter how quickly he moved, the steps were moving faster. Draco bit his lip and tried not to scream as his legs were dragged upwards through the tiny space, the griffin's stone wings gouging deep into his right calf. Involuntary tears stung Draco's eyes and his fingers clawed the stone steps desperately in an attempt to remain silent, lest he alert Harry's captors to his presence. He could feel hot blood soaking through his trousers and dripping down into his sock, as well as a rising sickness in his stomach. Draco began to shake as the staircase wound slowly upward, cold sweat prickling his skin. He realized he was going into shock, trying his best to breathe deeply and stanch the bleeding. His hands were shaking too badly, though, and when the came away bloody he almost passed out.

"_No!_ Please, no… stop. Help! Help! _Draco!_"

Draco's eyes shot upwards towards the slowly approaching door. _Harry. Harry needs me. I have to save Harry. This is all my fault. It's all my fault Harry is in trouble, and I have to help him. _A spike of adrenaline and resolution shot through Draco, quelling the nausea and dizziness threatening to drown him. He quickly and quietly cast a cleansing charm on his hands and ripped off a large strip of fabric from his robe, which he bound tightly around his leg. Slowly, very slowly, he rose to his feet. One hand on the wall steadied his balance, the other hand grasped his wand. The door was getting closer. Draco took an experimental step forward, inwardly wincing at the pain but schooling his features into the cold stoicism. He could not afford to betray weakness.

The staircase groaned as it came to a halt, the sound muffled by the screams from within. Draco pointed his wand at the door and whispered a soft "_Alohamora," _but found to his disbelief that the door was unlocked. Steeling himself, Draco pushed the door open as quietly as he could.

Draco could do nothing more than stare in horror at the scene before him. The usually bright, cheerful room was dark, lit only by a handful of hovering candles. Through the shadows Draco noticed that the portraits of past headmasters and other important figures were all covered by tattered black cloths and the floor was littered with open books, all splattered with blood. All of these observations were secondary, though, to the image in the center of the room. Dumbledore's desk was surrounded by dark cloaked figures, all moving in a slow, steady circle. As they moved, Draco caught glimpses of pale skin smeared with blood, limbs twitching, muscles tensing and relaxing. _Harry._ At the head of the desk stood a tall, shrouded figure, his face cast into stark highlights and shadows by a throbbing, twisting ball of green flame slowly growing high above the arcane blood ritual taking place in the Headmaster's office.

The cloaked figures circling the desk stopped abruptly as the shrouded man at the head of the desk stepped forward. For an awful moment, Draco thought they had noticed his presence. Instead, the man looked solemnly down at Harry's prone form and wrapped both hands around a long, crooked dagger.

_NO!_ Draco thought as the man raised the dagger over Harry's chest, but what he said was "_Expelliarmus_!"

As the word left his mouth, Draco thought several things simultaneously. The first was that he wished desperately that he had practiced silent incantations enough to have trusted it for this situation. The second was that he was very lucky that this was a somehow enchanted dagger, because otherwise "_Expelliarmus_" would have done him a fat lot of good.

As it was, Draco at least had an enchanted dagger in his hand to show for the fact that a circle of cloaked figures was quickly closing on him. Draco couldn't particularly remember actually entering the room, but the door slammed shut behind him all the same. He raised his wand and wished that his father had accompanied his hunting lesson with something that would be more appropriate here than an "_Aveda Kedavra_."

"Good of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy."

The crowd parted to allow the shrouded figure through. Draco's grip tightened on his wand and he raised the dagger threateningly.

"Let Harry go."

The figure chuckled in a bemused sort of way.

"Mr. Malfoy, you really think you can use my own dagger against me?"

The man raised his hand and the dagger flew from Draco's grip.

"And as for your noble request that I let Harry go I am afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that heroic sentiments do not suit you well at all."

The man stepped closer and Draco opened his mouth.

"None of that, please." And when Draco spoke, he found his voice had left him. His wand followed it very shortly, as did his ability to stand.

"However, I must say that it seems rather a pity to let the game end so quickly now you've decided to join the fun, Mr. Malfoy." The man leant over, the cloth covering the lower half of his face slipping as he bent until he was almost nose-to-nose with Draco. "After all, you have been so very kind to nurse dear Harry back to health since his unfortunate encounter earlier this year, and to provide him love, strength and protection these past months. I'm sure Harry will be… delighted… to see you." As the man raised his illuminated wand tip between them, Draco finally caught a glimpse of his face.

"P…Pro… Professor.."

The man blew the green light from the tip of his wand into Draco's face, smiling to himself as grey eyes rolled back and Draco's head fell to the floor with a satisfying thud.

"All in good time, my boy."

The man pocketed the dagger once more, and with a wave of his hand the green flame shrank and vanished into his outstretched palm. With a nod, the cloaked figures closed around Draco and took him away, leaving the man alone with Harry. He looked down into the pale, exhausted face, tenderly brushing a trail of blood from the soft cheek.

"After all, I've waited sixteen years. I can wait one more day."


	36. The Ultimate Sacrifice

**UPDATED **Author's Note:

Hello! To those who did not see this chapter when it was first posted at the beginning of May, here you are! Not sure if "better late than never" works after two years, but here are the answers you have all been asking for all along.

To those who did read this chapter before, I highly recommend you read it again. I received a couple reviews saying that it felt rushed, and you're absolutely right. I wasn't sure how long I would be on this latest writing kick what with finals and all, and was more interested in just getting the story out there instead of getting it out well. Now that it's there I am going back through and filling in the gaps, fixing the typos and generally just making it WAY BETTER. If you're wondering why I'm updating this instead of working on the epilogue, my manager (aka my fiance) has suggested I wait until after finals to post it, which I think is probably a good idea on all fronts. So, here is this update, I'm going to fix the final chapter, and then you can expect the epilogue by the end of May. Thank you, and happy reading!

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Harry woke to pain. Not the type of pain when you've broken an arm or sprained an ankle, or even the kind after a particularly hard Quidditch match, though that came closest.

No one particular place hurt; a blinding, all encompassing agony filled Harry which seemed to glow in varying shades of white and red depending on the given injury. Harry's stomach, for example, felt deep, aching red, while his shattered wrist felt white. The corresponding hand, however, merely felt dead.

"Harry... Harry, please... wake up."

Harry's heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment he imagined the voice might be his own, somehow calling his spirit back to his body.

"_Harry…"_

No, he decided through the haze in his brain, the voice was not his own, and though the link between them still gaped empty and silent, like a dark chasm in Harry's chest, the scent tickling his nose and the hands gently brushing his face left Harry with little doubt to whom the voice belonged. Despite his efforts, Harry found his eyes were slow to open and even slower to focus, but at last he was able to make out Draco kneeling above him bruised and beaten, his silky hair caked so thick with blood it practically stood on end. One eye was swollen shut, and a deep gash along his cheek was still bleeding freely.

"Harry!"

Draco's expression twisted horribly as Harry squinted through the remains of his glasses, and it took him a long moment to recognize the lines and creases on Draco's face as signs of relief. That look made Harry want nothing more than to pull Draco into a hug, but as he tried Harry found he was pinned to the floor by unseen restraints, his feeble attempts failing at anything beyond inciting even more debilitating pain. Harry groaned, but tried to breathe, tried to focus.

"Draco…. Are you ok? Can you move? Where are we?"

Harry's eyes scanned the room hastily, noticing no more than the grey walls seeming to close in around them before his poor vision dimmed even further as a long, dark shadow fell over them.

"You are in the Room of Requirement, Harry, and yes, Mr. Malfoy can move. However, I'm afraid that fact is going to be rather short lived."

Through the fog of pain Harry could do nothing more than stare in paralyzed horror as Draco tensed to run, or fight, or do _something, _but the wordless hex caught them both by surprised as it ensnared Draco in invisible coils, dragging him from the floor to dangle kicking and thrashing in the air. Draco's bruised and bloodied face, at first cold and composed with anger at the unseen intruder, was now beginning to tighten into a stark mask of pain and horror, his eyes glazing and beginning to well with unshed tears yet still blazing, blazing with _life, _a life too precious for this, too… innocent- yes. With a jolt, Harry suddenly realized somehow, despite all the death and violence and dark magic in Draco's past, the Slytherin had managed to scrape through it_._ Not unscathed, certainly, but yet, deep down, Draco was pure in a way Harry felt even he himself wasn't, and the though too weak for anger, the _wrongness_ of watching that innocence violated filled Harry with a deep, dark hatred for that figure still torturing him…them.. from the shadows. "The time has come to say goodbye, Harry. I'm afraid Mr. Malfoy has a very important role to play in this as well, one which unfortunately necessitates his untimely demise-" Draco shook his head fearfully as the words penetrated straight through his very soul, all pretense of bravery withering as the coils tightened unbearably. He stared at Harry desperately, pleadingly, shaking now with genuine terror.

"Harry… Harry please, help me…_please." _

Draco's voice was rushed and frantic, breaking on a violent sob, and Harry fought the hex immobilizing him so hard he could feel at least a dozen barely scabbed over wounds splitting open once more.

"_Stop! _Let him go, please, you don't have to do this. Let him go and I surrender, you can have me, do whatever you want to me and I won't try to stop you, just let Draco go!"

Harry begged from his prone position on the floor, straining just to see Draco through the tears streaming down his own face unchecked as he tried to push the pain to the back of his mind. And it was then, at last, that Harry saw who it was standing just out of his line of sight, who was behind their capture, who was managing to so rapidly destroy everything that they had spent months building together. The elderly Headmaster stepped forward into the dim light, a heavy, tattered black shroud in place of his usually colorful robes and his eyes hidden from sight by the draping hood; however, the long beard, crooked nose and kind smile were unmistakable. Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly at Harry's plea, as well as the look of shock and betrayal twisting the boy's near-unrecognizable features. Dumbledore's hands, however, were a stark contrast to his otherwise calm demeanor; shaking and age-spotted, they roughly gripped a handful of Harry's hair, forcing his trapped head up so Harry found himself staring into the shadowed depths of the hood. "You'll surrender? Harry, dear boy, I have you immobilized, both your wand and Mr. Malfoy's snapped and disposed of. You are not only too weak to stand, but completely incapacitated. I'm afraid what I _do_ or _do not_ do to your _boyfriend_ is rather out of your hands now." The thin lips split into a wide, red smile around crooked yellowed teeth. And with that he stood, advancing on Draco's struggling form and abruptly shoving his hand _inside_ Draco's chest with a blinding surge of green light. A strangled scream ripped from Draco's throat as his eyes screwed tight with agony, lost in a world of pain so intense and private Harry felt something inside himself crumble just to watch it.

"_NO!"_

Harry screamed, thrashing and cursing to no avail as Dumbledore slowly withdrew his hand. Clutched in the old, gnarled fingers was a small, glowing ball of light with a soft, glimmering halo misting the air around it. It hovered there in his hand for a moment, and with a wave of nausea Harry remembered watching through the forest just three years prior as his own soul was sucked out much the same. Somehow this was far, far worse. Sickening prize in hand, Dumbledore at last allowed Draco to slump to the floor, the deathly pale blonde face level with Harry's now and only a few feet away. Draco's eyes were still staring wide, shining with fear and shock and pain as the light within them grew dim, the constant tears streaming down his face slowing as the rise and fall of Draco's chest slowed as well.

"Draco… _Draco please, can you hear me??" _Harry whispered, bloody, broken fingers clawing at the floor in a desperate attempt to break free." The liquid silver of Draco's eyes had dulled and darkened to the color of wet stone, chalky lips opening and closing on empty air. His breaths were shallow, infrequent and gasping when they came, and Harry tried to shake his head but couldn't, unable to help, to hold… to look away. Draco's hand weakly slid forward, reaching for Harry, but it fell short half way. "Harry…" he whispered, voice low and rough as it was forced out between lips rapidly turning blue. His eyes were utterly penetrating in their intensity as they stared unwaveringly into Harry's, needing in his final moments to know that Harry saw, that he understood, that he remembered.

"_Harry, I love you…." _Draco could only breathe the words. They were barely audible and yet they thundered in Harry's ears, echoing through the suddenly empty hole where his heart had been as Draco's tortured form grew still at last, the light in his eyes extinguished completely as he slipped silently into the darkness.

"_NO. _No no no no _NOOO!!_

Harry screamed. He screamed, and screamed and screamed, a sound raw and wild and _inhuman_, a sound that set the very stone of the walls trembling and had Dumbledore clutching at his own chest, swaying unsteadily on his feet, a look of obvious pain tightening the aged features. As Harry screamed, though, a second sound broke through that of his own keening wail, and he realized disjointedly it was the deafening laughter of the crazed man before him rising rapidly in both pitch and insanity as Harry's cry of mourning went on and on. And then, as quickly as he had begun, Harry abruptly fell silent; Dumbledore's curse hit him square in the chest like an invisible blade, slitting Harry's straining vocal chords and drawing a final high pitched yelp of pain before his throat began to fill with blood. Harry reflexively rolled onto his hands and knees on the floor, gagging and choking until he could breathe again, trembling violently. It was then he realized he could at last move his limbs, and he crawled haltingly, blearily, reverently towards Draco's lifeless form. Before Harry could maneuver around his numerous injuries, though, Dumbledore knelt down and effortlessly lifted Draco's body with one hand, the other still holding the glowing ball of Draco's soul. Seeing it there, so bare, so exposed, touched by someone who had no right to do so, made something inside of Harry's own soul quiver and he physically curled in around it, hugging himself tightly. He held the aching, trembling thing inside himself tenderly as above him Dumbledore blew on the small glowing orb, turning it from purest white to acrid green.

"_Harry…"_

Harry jolted as he felt a stirring deep in his chest, a warm glow momentarily tickling his hand as the metal band heated. Though their bond was still devoid of thought and feeling, the familiar sensation of Draco's magic played at the edges of Harry's senses, bringing tears of desperate hope to his eyes.

"_Draco, oh… Draco. Is it really you? But… how? Where….I saw you… I saw you _die_."_

Even inside his own head Harry's voice broke on that dreaded final word.

"_Not yet, Harry. Not as long as you're alive. Our magic is bound. As long as you're alive, part of my magic, my soul, will always be with you."_

Above Harry, Dumbledore took the seething green ball of Draco's soul and pressed it slowly back into the empty cavity of his chest. The result was instantaneous: Draco's limp frame began to spasm violently as he was seized by uncontrollable coughs, gasping for breath. The sound made Harry look up, and not having seen the return of Draco's altered soul to his body a flood of relief filled him, thick and heady as he tried to stumble to his feet.

"_Harry no, get back!"_

The voice came barely a second before Draco's eyes opened, a dark trail of blood falling from each of the black, lifeless orbs to splash onto satin soft, snow white cheeks. Even with the warning it was too late, though, and as Harry unsteadily found his feet he was immediately flung back to the floor, cracking his head on the unforgiving stones and seeing a kaleidoscope of black through wide, vacant eyes.

"_Harry, kill me, kill me quick before I hurt you. Don't let me do this, please. I can still see what I'm doing, I can still feel my body- please… make it.. quick.. if you can… but do it! Do it now! It's the only way. I'd rather be dead than do these things to you."_

Harry sobbed as he lay there, part from all the pain, and Draco's words, but even more from the fact that all the while the smell of Draco's silky hair and recently laundered robes stung his nose and throat with bitter memories. The quick intake of air sucked the thick, hot blood still oozing inside his throat and chest into his lungs, setting of another uncontrollable bought of coughing and gagging.

"_No. No, I won't…"_

As the flash of pain and dizziness dimmed Harry stood once more, but again Draco immediately knocked him back to the floor, delivering a solid kick to Harry's ribs for his trouble. The bones were already broken from Harry's earlier beating, but the sheer force sent them stabbing inward, and with a mute cry Harry spit up another mouthful of blood across the cold stone floor.

"_Harrry… no, please… please kill me. I can't stand hurting you like this, but I can't stop it, it's not…. It's not me, Harry!"_

Though the meaning of the words were lost on Harry's pain addled brain, Draco's presence, his fear and urgency and unwavering love for Harry drove him on, and he stood again, stumbling blindly forward. This time Draco followed Harry to the floor, pinning him cruelly by his mangled hands, laughing derisively at Harry's obvious pain.

"Come on, Potter." Harry looked up in shock, Draco's voice in his ear drowning out the one in his head. "Even _you_ know what happens next." Pale, delicate hands were suddenly rough, suddenly everywhere, ripping Harry's robes and using the fabric to tie Harry's hands together. The shattered bones in Harry's left wrist shifted sickeningly, a particularly sharp piece threatening to pierce the skin, but Harry could only grit his teeth.

"_Harry, no…. kill me, kill _him_. It's you that matters, Harry, not me. Only you can fix this, only you can stop him!"_

Harry felt his jumper pushed up to expose his chest, his trousers pulled forcefully down to his knees, trapping him, his bare thighs cruelly pried open as far as his trousers would allow and pinned to the floor with a wordless hex. Even in his current state, the impossibility of Draco performing such powerful wandless magic was not lost on Harry, and he looked around for Dumbledore; he found the elderly Headmaster lying prone on the floor across the room, his age-yellowed blue eyes milky with death. Harry stared back up at Draco, eyes widening with fearful realization.

"_You…. You're not Draco. And you weren't Dumbledore either. It's you, isn't it? How…. How can it be you? How can it be you?!"_

Harry thrashed beneath Draco in rapidly spiking hysteria as now through the dim light and his broken glasses he made out the other boy's eyes, and in them he could see, really see, what was happening, could see the eyes that should have been warm and soft and grey weren't grey at all, or even the empty blackness of a few minutes before, but angry red slits, snake-like, transforming Draco's familiar features into such a look of hate that no magic could truly conceal the monster Tom Riddell had transformed himself into nearly one year past at the Triwizard Tournament, fighting to surface within Draco's stolen body. Harry had not spoken aloud, was incapable of doing so, but no words could have accurately described the horrible understanding in Harry's eyes that had Voldemort chuckling knowingly.

"I have controlled death for many, many years Harry,"

The voice whispered, but it was no longer Draco's- it had become high and cold and deadly, a voice that had woken Harry from nightmares long before he ever knew to whom it belonged. The long-suffering tone in Voldemort's voice did nothing to hide the rabid underlying glee.

"Death is easy to control. It is simple, straightforward- but _life_ is a different matter entirely. I had the power of death, but you, Harry, _you_ had the power of _life_, and last year when you were so kind to give me back my body, you unwittingly gave me that as well."

Harry knew it was Voldemort, he knew, but when he looked up it was Draco sitting back on his knees where he straddled Harry's bare, struggling thighs, stroking an icy hand down the naked skin of Harry's side and hip. The touch had the old, familiar nausea flooding back at once, making Harry gag, but he found he could turn his head no more than an inch or two once more and the blood he threw up had nowhere to go but back down his throat, where it produced a horrible gurgling noise. Harry was thankful for the pain, though, because it so consumed his mind he was almost entirely able to block out the feel of sharp nails dragging red welts down his chest and stomach.

"Once you gave me _that_ it was so simple to combine the two, the power of life _and_ death. Charlie Weasely was the easiest access point- he worked alone, isolated, and catching him unguarded was effortless- just as easy, in fact, as it was to use his body to enter Hogwarts. Once I entered these hallowed halls once more, especially with your very own blood and magic in my veins, I'm afraid you never had a chance, Harry. Dumbledore's barriers protect the school from the _outside,_ and- I bet even you didn't know this part, Harry- special _allowances_ had been made for your specific magical signature. Dumbledore thought that allowing you special privileges would increase your chances against _me,_ but in the end it merely gave me the opportunity I needed to destroy you underneath their very noses! Oh, once I was _in,"_

Voldemort paused in his speech to arch his hips provocatively into Harry's, and Draco's obvious arousal made Harry sob and strain against his bindings anew. As the memories began to take hold Harry wished more than ever for the comfort of the bond and Draco's voice in his mind, but his head was unnervingly silent and his heart was painfully empty.

"there was nothing any of your precious guardians could do. Severus Snape was particularly hard to get under my control- eventually I had to go through _McGonogal_! Oh, don't be so surprised, Harry. Whatever you thought about the man, he would have followed Dumbledore to the ends of the earth; a particularly important codependency, I might add- I had to get to Dumbledore when he was weak, unsuspecting, and each week Snape would stand watch while Dumbledore used his penseive. Dumbledore's magic was by far the most powerful-but his body also weakened the quickest. That's why I needed all of your friends, Harry. Dumbledore was the only one I thought could get the job done, so I needed to save his strength, but I needed to keep an eye on you as well. You wouldn't believe how hard they all fought- after that little outburst earlier Severus Snape actually managed to completely throw off my control, for the _second_ time! Unfortunately, I was forced to put him down, or else risk the completion of my little project. I must admit, Harry, I had actually intended to end our game earlier this evening once and for all- I even had all of your friends gathered for the occasion! The mudblood and the youngest Weasely boy of course, not to mention his dear brother Charlie and Severus Snape, with the part of dear Dumbledore played by yours truly."

At this, Draco (_Voldemort,_ Harry reminded himself. _Not Draco, Voldemort) _laughed softly, cruelly, tugging teasingly at the waistband of Harry's shorts; Harry felt his vision darkening once more as the hand slipped inside to claw and squeeze at him with harsh fingers, and his mind slipped back into his nightmares, back into the past.

"But then, your dearly beloved," at this he paused to elaborately indicate himself, "showed up to make a daring rescue, and I knew then that, magical power and capabilities aside, Draco Malfoy had more power over you than any other. I couldn't let him interfere, of course, but there was no way I was going to let you die with even an ounce of hope in your heart, either. No way I would let you die clinging to your sad little feelings of _love _and _devotion. _There was no was I was going to be rushed at _this."_

Steadying himself with one hand on Harry's hip, Draco held out his hand and a long, crooked dagger flew into his open palm without a word. Harry jerked at the sight, but he was still tied and half-naked beneath the other boy, entirely helpless. Nonetheless, the hand on Harry's hip moved to his shoulder, forcefully pressing Harry into the floor.

"Sixteen years, Harry, you've wasted on frivolities. Fifteen of them on time stolen from _me._"

The humor was rapidly fading from that high, nasty voice now, though, and something inside Voldemort seemed to snap. Harry's state of partial undress was quickly forgotten as Draco touched the dagger's blood-crusted tip to Harry's chest, pressing down hard enough to draw a tiny pearl of blood and make Harry's breath catch in his tattered throat. Voldemort's eyes were even redder now if possible, wide and glazed and drunk with blood lust, Draco's lips open and panting the way Harry had seen them many times between heated kisses.

"That old corpse barely made it,"

Draco nodded towards Dumbledore's dead body, and Harry felt a spike of cold fury crackle up his spine.

"But it was worth the risk…"

The red eyes narrowed, glinting with unrestrained maniacal glee, the tip of a pink, wet tongue wetting rapidly drying lips.

"… to see this-"

There was a sick squelching sound and a choked gasp as the blade sank through layers of skin and muscle, driving straight through Harry's heart before coming to rest in the bone beneath. Harry's eyes widened, huge and green and shining, as they stared beseechingly into Draco's, the image of his own blood on those hands- hands he had kissed, held, treasured….

A thought struck Harry suddenly and he glanced frantically at Draco's hand- there, there was the ring, the familiar platinum and gold glistening. Voldemort had not noticed it, but maybe… maybe- reaching up with violently shaking hands, Harry grabbed Draco by the front of his robes, drawing the other boy forward. Voldemort's shock was visible through Draco's perplexed features, but Harry felt something deep inside himself, inside them _both_, warm and soften and swell. Harry's throat was still raw and bloody, but he brought Draco down until they were eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, the dagger pressing even deeper into Harry's chest under Draco's weight. A strained grunt forced its way wetly, but otherwise silently, from Harry's throat, and Draco's panicky breaths were beginning to fog Harry's glasses. As Harry slowly bled out onto the floor beneath them, so too did the red begin to bleed from Draco's eyes, clarity, and with it panic, slowly returning.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy, with all of my heart, and I forgive you."

The words were no more than breath, but they seemed to materialize between them in softly glowing motes of light with an intensity that increased rapidly as Draco returned to himself. The last of Harry's strength was quickly leaving him, though, and with all that was left within him Harry pressed his lips to Draco's in a tender, aching kiss. As their lips met, the light gathering in them and around them seemed to splinter, shooting outward in every direction with a deafening blow that lit the air with electricity and blasted the ancient stone ceiling into dust. The explosion was deafening as the amplified recapitulation of their bonding echoed around them, wracking Harry's limbs with mild shivers and sending Draco to the floor at Harry's side in a writhing mass as the blackness evaporated from his soul like steam.

As the debris fell around them and the dust settled in their hair and on their skin like archaic snow, Harry and Draco clung together unconsciously; the blond boy's limp form curled around the dagger still protruding from Harry's chest, and the Gryffindor's mangled fingers locked tightly around handfuls of Draco's robes as their breathing slowed. Far below, in a world as yet untouched by the tragedy unfolding above, students were jarred awake by the resounding explosion and the emergency alarms that echoed down the empty halls and through the silent classrooms. Not far from where Harry and Draco lay, locked within the Griffindor dormitories, Ron and Hermione cried out in unison from the warmth and safety of their separate beds, waking violently from a nightmare that was at once vivid and unreal. The memories of the sacrificial ceremony they had attended just hours before haunted them, tangible and yet just out of grasp, like the smell of blood and dark magic still clinging in their clothes and hair. One floor below, Blaise and Pansy both froze in their hours-long search for Harry and Draco, eyes meeting with dread as they took off at a run for the nearby staircase.

Within the Room of Requirement the silence that followed was deafening. Feeling drugged and disoriented, Draco slowly tried to get to his knees but slipped in the ever-widening pool of blood beneath them, pitching forward slightly. Raising his weak, trembling hands to rub his bleary eyes, Draco was surprised to find his numb fingers were wet. For a long moment he could only stare down at the red liquid confusedly, distantly aware of the feeling of it drying in a thin, sticky smear on his face.

"Harry…?"

Draco's voice was small and scared as the fog in his mind began to clear and he stared in growing horror at his red hands, watching the blood trailing slowly down his wrists in thick, glistening drops. Shaking, more violently now than when he'd known he was mere moments from death, Draco hesitantly raised his eyes. Memory came in both small snatches and large chunks, weaving together into a nightmare that Draco couldn't comprehend, couldn't believe was true. Horrible images flashed in his mind, things he would never… never…

"Harry… oh, Merlin. Harry… Harry… are you still with me?"

Draco's hands seemed to have lost all communication with his brain as he tried to force himself to focus, to get help, to find his wand, a wand, to.. oh, Merlin, to fix Harry's _clothes_. A small, pained gurgle broke the silence, and when Draco realized what it was he rapidly untied Harry's wrists and turned the slight boy onto his side as quickly and as gently as he could manage. Harry was too weak and tired and even spit out the blood, and it merely poured from his half-parted lips in a slow, steady trickle. Draco felt the familiar nausea begin to rise, but his squeamishness seemed so insignificant next to all Harry had done, all _he_ had done.

"Shh… it's ok, it's ok. Don't talk now. You did it, Harry… everything is going to be alright. You were so strong… I'm so proud. Just hang in there, Harry. Help is coming. You'll be ok. "

Draco pressed damp, trembling kisses to Harry's forehead, his cheeks, nose, and then finally his lips; he could barely taste Harry's skin beneath all of the blood and sweat and stale magic, and with a choked sob the bitter taste of his own tears joined as well. Harry made a final attempt to speak, but again it proved useless. Unable to fight any longer, Harry closed his eyes, first for a moment, then longer, until at last he could not open them again. It didn't matter, though. He was too tired, too weak, and words were useless, now, anyway- Draco was here, he was safe, and he _knew_, and that was all that mattered.

"_I love you…"_

Harry thought it as hard as he could, willed Draco to remember always, no matter what, as he finally gave in to the overwhelming exhaustion.

"Harry… Harry…"

Draco's voice was soft and afraid as he gathered Harry in his arms, at last coaxing his numb fingers to pull up and fasten Harry's trousers, touching timid fingers to the angry red welts that he knew he had caused, and which he was sure would be bleeding more freely if Harry's body had any more blood to give. Outside, the sound of footsteps and raised voices were quickly approaching, the alarms that had been blaring throughout the entire castle at last penetrating the room's fading charms and enchantments as the world came crashing down around them.


	37. The End

Author's Note: Well, here it is. The end. The final chapter. The thing some of you have waited 5 long years for. What can I say, as I finish this story? It began as a therapeutic exercise to help me cope with my own problems, and became something so much more. I am not the same person I was when I began writing this story, and for a while I could not think how to combine who I was when I began and who I am now to complete a smoothly flowing story. Also, after the release of the 7th Harry Potter book, my original ending seemed too similar to some of the themes and plot devices in the actual book, even though this story began long before its release. After much debate, though, I decided the best solution to both of those problems was to stick with the original ending I had planned.

Please note, though this is the final chapter of the actual story, I intend to include an **epilogue**. Considering how quickly I managed to complete this much once the plot bunny seized me, I hope to complete the epilogue within the next few days. I am putting off listing this story as truly complete until it has its epilogue, and I am able to comb out the spelling mistakes and old formatting errors leftover from the site circa 2004.

Ok, at last, here it goes!

It is with great pleasure now that I present to you: The End.

XxXxXxXxXx

_It was warm, when he finally woke, and though he did not recognize where he was, Harry was not afraid. The grass beneath his face smelled sweet, and somewhere nearby birds were serenading their mates, and the sound soothed and grounded him. Harry attempted to rise to his feet slowly, anticipating the pain but completely unprepared for what he got- nothing. There was no pain, no blood or broken bones. Startled, Harry began to look around in earnest. He was in a small clearing, about a hundred meters in each direction from where he stood, and after that a dense wall of trees all around, the dappled sunlight making fluttering patterns on the ground beneath. A little ways from where he stood a small stream cut its way through the edge of the clearing, and Harry gingerly walked towards it, still suspecting the pain to return any moment. _

_The water splashed and gurgled its way along, glistening in the sunlight, and Harry drank deeply before splashing his face and wetting his hair. When he at last looked up, feeling calm and refreshed, it was only with mild surprise that he found he was no longer alone. Lying in the grass on the other side of the stream was a buck, his antlers huge and imposing, his eyes trained levelly on Harry. The buck rose at once, and Harry stood as well, each assessing the other for another long moment before the buck turned and headed into the forest. Uncertain, yet unable to do otherwise, Harry silently followed. _

_They walked for what felt like ages to Harry, but he found he did not grow tired, and his feet did not hurt. Around them the landscape changed little beyond the gradual thinning of trees and increased density of flowers, the forest floor seeming to blossom before Harry's eyes. The path, which at first was no more than a narrow strip of flattened grass, had widened and evened out over the course of their journey, until they reached a juncture that was bare and solid from the wear of many feet. For the first time, the buck looked over his shoulder to ensure Harry was still beside him, and Harry tentatively laid a hand on its back, offering a small smile._

"_It's ok, dad. I'm still here."_

_They continued once more, this time walking side by side, Harry's hand still resting comfortably on the buck's back. As the trees dissipated, a small house began to materialize at the forest's edge, and a ways off there was another, Harry saw, and then another. A small village stood before them in the distance, not unlike the few other wizarding villages Harry had seen back-_

_Home. A painful twisting sensation in his chest drew Harry to an abrupt halt and he looked around wildly. Draco. Where was Draco? The sun and trees and flowers that had only moments before seemed so serene now seemed to be taunting him, laughing at him as his breathing took a frantic pace. The buck turned and looked at Harry, eyes wide with surprise. The buck gave a low sound from his throat and took a mouthful of Harry's sleeve, tugging gently. _

"_No, I can't go on without Draco, dad. He needs me."_

_The buck gave a low whine this time, pulling harder. _

"_It's alright, Harry. Please, come here, I've been wanting very much to meet you."_

_Harry looked up, and further down the path he saw a woman, her light blonde hair stirring gently in the breeze._

"_Narcissa?"_

_Harry walked forward numbly, the buck following at his side. _

"_What you did back there was very brave of you, Harry. You have fought so long, and so hard- and now it's time for you to rest."_

_The thought of rest, real rest, drew Harry forward as powerfully as did the familar scent of lavender, intoxicating his senses._

"Harry. Harry, can you hear me?"

_Harry froze. The buck at is side nudged him forward, and Narcissa reached for him, but it quickly became apparent that as she was she could not come any further. Panic welled in Harry, and he stumbled back a step. Frantically, the buck leapt forward towards Narcissa, changing instantly mid air as he traveled through the unseen barrier to land unsteadily on human feet._

"_Harry, please, come home to us. It's over now, you've won! You beat Voldemort, Harry- it's time to come home."_

"Oh Harry… please, I'm so sorry."

_James' eyes were wide with love and excitement on the other side of the invisible wall separating them, but Harry stumbled back a step._

"_Draco?! Where are you? I can hear you!"_

_Harry cried unsteadily, stumbling in a confused circle. James shouldered his way through the barrier once more and the buck leapt forward, grabbing Harry's shirt in his mouth and tugging harder, dragging Harry forward._

"Please don't go, Harry. Don't leave me here alone."

_The urgency in Draco's voice was becoming stronger, and the sheer force of it seemed tangible in the air, the trees darkening and blurring._

"_No! Let go! I'm not done, Dad, let go!"_

XxXxXx

"Draco, let go. Let go, we have to get him to the hospital."

Pansy's hands were patient, untangling each of Draco's blood-wet fingers from Harry's robes. The pain and terror in those silver eyes was unspeakable, and she had to fight her own tears as she folded him in her arms. Draco watched over her shoulder as mediwizards seemed to pour in from nowhere, surrounding Harry, pulling him away.

"No! Harry!"

He tried to lunge forward but Pansy held him fast.

"Let _go_ Pansy, he _needs_ me!"

Deep inside Draco's chest he could feel Harry slipping away, could feel him moving farther and farther into a place Draco could no longer reach. Suddenly, one of the monitoring spells they had just placed on Harry gave a shrill cry.

"Quick! We're losing him!"

All attempts to move Harry came to a halt as they tried to stabilize him, but still the horrible sound continued, shaking Draco to his core. That was when he noticed it, just barely out of arm's reach- the dagger. His eyes narrowed coldly, purposely, and with a sudden burst of strength he threw Pansy from him, sending her flying across the floor.

"If _you_ can't bring him back, _I_ will!"

Grabbing the dagger, Draco plunged it into his own chest. Harry's monitor alarm was still going off, but all movement had stopped. All they could do was stare wide eyed and bewildered as Draco crawled across the floor towards Harry, a slow, constant trickle of blood falling from his panting, gasping mouth, the dagger still protruding from his chest. Draco's path was slow and unsteady, but the mediwizards parted before him, and Draco sank to the floor at Harry's side.

"You're coming home, Potter- _now."_

And with that, Draco sank to the floor limply, curling around the other boy's quickly cooling body.

XxXxXx

_Harry's struggle had begun to draw a crowd, some faces familiar, some not, as they pushed as close to the invisible barrier as they could. Suddenly a second form leapt through the wall, a huge black dog, growling and snarling, teeth bared. He lunged at the buck, knocking the larger animal down. Barking and pawing the ground angrily, the black dog drove the buck slowly back until they both crossed the line, transforming as they passed through._

"_Sirius! What are you doing?? It's Harry! Harry's home!"_

_The light in James' eyes was wild, and he tried to lunge forward again._

"_It is _not_ that boy's time yet, James, and you can see it as well as I." _

_This time James made it through before Sirius could catch him and the two animals broke into a vicious fight, rolling and scrambling as teeth and claws and antlers met. Unable to speak in his animagus form, Sirius turned to Harry and gave a single long, low howl whose meaning was quite clear- "run."_

_Harry turned and ran back into the forest as fast as he could, the sounds of the fight and the crying souls of those he left behind fading slowly into the distance. Without his guide, though, Harry quickly became hopelessly lost. At last he sank dejectedly onto a rock, so deep within the forest the light could barely penetrate the dense canopy above. _

"_Oh Draco, I've let you down. You fought so hard, and we finally made it, just for… this… to happen. You must be so scared, so alone..."_

_Harry sobbed, the sound catching in his throat as tears welled behind his glasses and streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his narrow shoulders hunched and shaking under the force of his anguish and desperation. _

"_I suppose that might be an accurate assessment. Though admittedly you look a little scared and alone yourself."_

_The voice broke through the haze in Harry's mind and he looked up to find none other than Draco Malfoy before him, the tenderness of his expression belying the terror in his eyes._

"_Draco!" _

_Harry rushed forward, pulling the other boy into a tight, joyful hug, which Draco shakily returned. _

"_Oh Draco, you're here… I'm so glad you're here. I thought… I thought I'd never see you again. You won't believe everyone I've seen, Draco. My dad, and Sirius… even your mum. Now you're here we can go back and find them. We can stay-"_

"_We can't stay, Harry. I came to get you. We have to go home now."_

_Harry looked up at Draco, crest fallen._

"_But… why? Now that you're here, why do we have to? There's nothing back there for us, Draco. You were the only thing drawing me home, and now you're here too!"_

_Those words made Draco pale with shock, and fear and sadness, and he could only draw Harry closer._

"_Harry, there's so many reasons to go back-"_

"_Like what? Why? Why do we have to go back?" Harry's voice was beginning to sound slightly hysterical, his breaths coming in quick, panicky gasps. "All that's back there is hurt and pain and betrayal and death!"_

_Harry tried to break away, but Draco only held him tighter, letting the soft black hair tickle his nose as he rubbed calming circles into Harry's back._

"_What about Hedwig? What about Pansy and Blaise? What about all your friends?" Harry went to interrupt, but Draco shushed him. "They were under Voldemort's control, Harry, but now he's dead. What happens when they wake up and find out you're gone and it's their fault?" Harry's heart both rose and sank at that thought. "What about Quidditch? What about Hogwarts? What about our future?"_

_Harry's eyes widened. _

"_Our… future?"_

_Draco couldn't help but smile._

"_Of course our future, you ninny. Harry, we'll both be back here someday, and then we can go see your dad and Sirius and my mum. But until then, we have a lot left to do at _home. _Our home."_

_Harry could only nod, burying his head deeper in Draco's chest._

"_You're right. I guess it's time to go home."_

XxXxXxXxX

Pansy had not spoken a word since they'd left the Room of Requirement to follow Harry and Draco to St. Mungo's, Blaise close at her side. Her wrist was sprained from trying to break her fall earlier, but she would not leave the two unconscious boys alone. A mediwitch finally came in to bandage it, but Pansy did not even acknowledge the woman's presence. Something big was happening, she could feel it, but it was out of her reach, in a reality she found herself hopelessly incapable of comprehending. And then, as quickly as Draco's breaths had stopped not so long before, they returned in a fit of violent coughs. At once Pansy and Blaise were at his side, the mediwitch calling in the small cluster of medical personnel lingering just down the hall.

Draco's awareness of his surroundings was weak at best, and as he took in the white ceiling and concerned faces hovering above him he couldn't help resenting the fact that from this point of view every hospital looked identical. Where was he? What had happened? And then he remembered- Harry. Draco struggled to sit up but found he was restrained, both by an _imobulus_ and the tangle of arms that came down to stop him.

"I'm fine, let _go_! Where's Harry? Harry!"

One mediwizard in particular pushed through the crowd, motioning the others away.

"Mr. Malfoy, please, lay down. While we may have permitted your outbursts earlier you only abused that-"

"Shut _up. _Where is _Harry_? "

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"_Harry!"_

Frustrated, the man stepped aside and Draco was at last able to see the bed beside his own, Harry's dark, messy hair stark against the pillow, the livid bruises peppering his skin an equally stunning contrast against the countless white bandages.

"_Harry…" _Draco whispered, half in his head. "Harry." Louder this time. "Harry!" But Harry did not move, did not even look to be breathing. "Has he woken? Is he ok?" Draco struggled once more to sit up.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake…" the exasperated mediwizard gave a long-suffering sigh, but pushed the beds closer together all the same so Draco could at last take Harry's limp, bandaged hand in his own.

"_Why hasn't he woken? I don't understand, we agreed."_

Realizing he was at last able to move again, Draco gingerly shifted onto Harry's bed. The pain in his chest, both literal and metaphorical, was overwhelming, and his right calf gave an answering, agonizing throb, but those seemed dreadfully unimportant at the moment. Draco also knew they had an audience, but here, now, it did not matter in the slightest.

"Harry, can you hear me?" He began again, but this time the question was met with a response by way of a single twitch of Harry's good hand within his own clammy fingers, and a slow, answering warmth in his chest. Too weak and exhausted for the exclamation of joy this event truly warranted, Draco merely collapsed with relieved exhaustion, his head resting on Harry's sharp, bony shoulder.

"You really had me worried there, you terrible git." Draco whispered into his hair, pressing a wet shaky kiss to Harry's temple.

"_Didn't know you cared so much, Malfoy."_ A teasing voice answered in his head, their link slowly glowing back into life. Something was wrong, though. Draco could feel the dark undercurrent through his utter joy, hear the waver in Harry's thoughts, and he realized with a jolt that Harry hadn't yet opened his eyes, hadn't moved beyond that tiny twitch.

"_Harry, what's wrong? Please, wake up. Why won't you wake up?" _

Draco's eyes searched Harry's face for an answer, but the only response he got was a heady wave of guilt pouring from the Gryffindor's prone form.

"_Harry-"_

"_How can you just act like nothing happened?" _The voice was serious now, weak, scared.

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I let you down, again! It's my fault you're hurt, you were captured- Draco, you died! All because of me! You had to rescue me, _again, _and as a result I almost lost you forever!"_

"Harry." Draco spoke aloud, using the link instead to try to show Harry how true the words really were. "_You _saved _me._ It was my fault they captured you at all, I never should have said those things, never meant to push you away. I had to come help, I had to fix what _I_ had done. Getting captured was all my own fault too, but you… you saved me. When Voldemort took over my body, you could have just killed me and saved yourself, but you didn't. You sacrificed your own life to save mine."

It was the truth, yes, but not the entire truth, and Draco tucked away forever the knowledge of what he had ultimately done to get Harry back, the thick, constrictive bandage around his chest and the pain within a glaring reminder of that. That thought was pushed aside, though, as Harry's eyes at last opened blearily, staring blankly at his surroundings. When his unfocused gaze landed on Draco, a huge, shy grin lit Harry's face.

"_Do you mean it?" _Harry asked in Draco's mind, and with a horrible twinge Draco recalled that Harry could not speak aloud, may never speak aloud again, and though the thought of never again hearing Harry's sweet, vibrant voice made Draco feel horribly sad, he nodded. "_Yes, Harry. I meant it. This time, you're _my_ hero."_

Harry rolled his eyes, but the unpleasant feelings were rapidly dissolving, replaced instead by an overwhelming sense of relief from them both. Slowly, the two boys had begun to melt into each other, and as the last of their tension finally ebbed, exhaustion claimed them. While they slept the mediwizards came and went, and as the light slowly faded dusk took hold. More faces came to watch them as the long hours of the night ticked by: sad and shocked and self-loathing Gryffindors, a handful of curious Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and an endless throng of Slytherin's, who sat faithfully on watch through the night. As they slept, both boys knew the morning would bring a new wave of challenges: endless questions and painful answers, confrontations, and a long, painful healing process for them both. But there, in that shining, perfect moment, Harry and Draco had at last found absolute peace together, and tomorrow no longer mattered.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

I would like to take a moment to offer a deep, final "thank you" to all of my readers, and especially my reviewers. There have been a lot of you over the years, and your support helped me not only learn and grow as an author, but to heal as a person. If you have read this story and it has touched you in some way, for the better or worse, please leave a review and let me know. The purely fluffy, romantic and yes, smutty, epilogue will be posted soon, and I hope you will accept it as my ultimate show of gratitude to you, my readers ;)


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